Son of the archer
by Melancholy's Sunshine
Summary: Clint saves a kid and grows attached to the little guy. But he knows he should bring him back to his family. Can he find them? Will he even want too?
1. I found somebody

**Hey everyone... Please don't kill me. Some of you maybe familar with my work. This story has blatant comparisons with another fic I'm writing. The muggle raised. Just taking the twist a bit further. Where... Well, you'll have to read and see.**

Clint Barton was a simple man of simple desires. He was an archer who wanted a durable and accurate bow and enough arrows for him to shoot. And of those Rrows happened to electrocute, freeze or blow up things, then so be it.

Sure he may have been in the circus and became a government agent under a one eyed pirate but he still considered himself a simple man. He took time outside his missions to enjoy movies, music, and even dating when time allowed.

Though his work seemed to want to hinder that.

His new boss, Fury, had sent him on a mission to England. He never did like England. Too proper and too hard to understand. And way too strange. Especially when he tried to get a new battery for his dying hearing aid.

He grumbled as he somehow got lost in a little village with not a phone or computer, or hell, electric device of any kind in sight. People were dressed in bizarre Renaissance fair clothing that made him feel uncomfortable just staring at them. Itchy plain annoying material.

And he thought living in the circus was weird.

With all the tourist attractions and junk, he wondered why he had never heard of this crazy little place in the first place. Racing brooms, collapsible couldrens, and dragon liver? And what the hell were galleons, knuts, and sickles? Barmy individuals they were.

Especially with their paranoid reactions. He knew they were whispering about him as if he were a fungus. Some in fear, others in disgust, a few in the worst of all, pity. He had a bit of an idea why they were talking, he was carrying a large narrow bag on his back carrying around fifteen arrows and an emergency collapsible bow. That didn't stop the irritation from the whispers his dying hearing aid couldn't pick up.

He grumbled to himself as he made his way down the cobblestone road to find something he could use to contact Fury and get the hell out. The shopping area seemed to grow colder as he made his way through. He would rather be on the roof tops but there was no cover.

Bitterly, he decided he would never step foot in England again, Fury be damned. He was drawn from his internal cursing of England when he heard something interesting.

"We should just kill it. Blood trailer spawn-"

"He has not been tainted by that mudblood loving family. He will grow as a pure blood should."

"Not worth the trouble. The ministry search for the brat. Just let me kill it now. We can send them the body for giggles!"

Clint's body tensed. He wasn't the best at hearing, despite the hearing aid. But he could tell that whoever was talking had someone, five or younger, male, and from the sounds of it, they were either kidnappers or murderers. Or both. Probably both.

He narrowed his eyes and darted between buildings trying to find the speakers. He lightly glided through the alleys. Their voices cut out suddenly. He tapped his hearing aid trying to get the dumb thing to work. Unfortunately, it seemed his battery had just given out on him. He was going in deaf.

He could have left. He could have just found a phone and called Fury for pick up even if he couldn't hear the bald man. He had already completed his mission.

But the words lingered in his mind festering like an infected wound. Someone's life was on the line. And it was someone who not only couldn't defend themselves, but who couldn't hurt anyone.

He wasn't going to stand by and let that happen.

He glanced around searching for any possible witnesses. Seeing none, he scaled the building and effortlessly made his way to the roof. He was actually relieved that the buildings were as close as they were, giving him plenty of room to work from as he jumped from roof to roof avoiding civilian views.

Even if he was almost spotted by some bizarre man who had a broom between his legs. Seriously, what was he going to do? Fly with it? English people really were barmy. But Barmy or not he did look up right when Clint was about to jump. Clint fell on his face just short of actually jumping the roof he was on to hide. The man didn't notice. Clint would have continued if the man would just stop staring up around the roof. Groaning in irritation, he turned his head to look over the other buildings.

His heart fell. About two streets over, the shopping area seemed to stop. Buildings encircling the area to keep people from entering a wooded area. A wooded area where two adults were walking, arguing with each other if their body language was anything to go by, carrying a large blanket that looked suspiciously like a small body. They were moving quickly away from any building and in the opposite direction of where he had been. He was more than certain he had found his target.

He began jumping from roof to roof, away from the broom man and after the blanket holders. It was an effortless journey keeping the two in his sight. At least for a young government trained spy such as himself.

Slipping from roof tops to tree branches. He noticed the odd clothing was even stranger than the other people. Like crazy Halloween costumes. Crazy psycho people. Crazy psycho kidnapper killers. One man, one woman. The woman had thick, dark, and curly hair. The man wore a hood, indistinguishable, and carrying the reached into his bag and pulled out his collapsible bow and an arrow. It would take about ten seconds for him to draw another arrow from his bag. He didn't know anything about these two, but he'd have to be quick.

He could see the two continuing to argue though he couldn't tell what they were saying. He hated not being able to hear what they were saying. But if he had to guess, the woman wanted to kill the child. The man wanted to raise him. Neither seemed to like the other.

If he wanted to save the child...

He aimed his bow and let his arrow fly. Even before impact, he reached back to secure another arrow. The arrow pierced through the woman's back near her spine. She fell over in pain and her companion turned trying to pull something from his pocket, dropping the blanket. Clint released his arrow as the man pulled out a stick. Clint wasn't sure what he was going to do with a stick, but he knew he couldn't do anything with an arrow piercing through his eye and damaging the brain. Well, killing the man. The woman seemed to shriek in pain and rage. Her face turned enough that he could see her mouth move.

"Damn it Yaxley! Couldn't let me just kill the brat!" Clint read her lips as he assumed she screamed. Clint readied another arrow. She stood up clutching the area of her injury, her other hand on a nearby tree. She leaned part of her shoulder on the tree to lessen the weight on her feet. She pulled a similar stick from her sleeve pointing it frantically at the trees. In her rage she reached for the blanket, quite possibly to use the kid as a human shield. Clint fired another arrow.

The arrow pierced her shoulder pinning her to the tree. She screeched in more rage cursing people he didn't know. Cops perhaps. Or were they called bobbies? Whatever.

He jumped between the branched to her tree as she struggled to free herself, tearing muscle all the while no doubt. He jumped from one of the lower branches to the ground. In a swift motion, he hit her neck knocking her out. She fell limp, only held up by Clint's arrow. Her injuries still bleeding, but sluggishly with the arrows holding their positions.

Clint stared at the woman. He could kill her. He killed the other man. And he didn't want to even kill the kid. A whine broke him from his thoughts. He turned his head to the blanket to see it moving. He darted over to the blanket, knowing the woman wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon. He gently scooped the body from the ground, unwrapping the head.

Short, fuzzy red hair treated him with droopy blue eyes. Facial baby fat was easily seen in his pale cheeks. Tears filled his eyes as he reached out to Clint.

"Dada," he mumbled. Clint felt his heart warm. Ah, the little guy thought he was his dad...

Wait... He thought he was his dad?

"You can't tell the difference between me and your daddy can you little guy?" he asked knowing he wouldn't get an answer. The little guy just gave a baby smile, with little white teeth starting to peak out of his gums. Clint smiled back at the little guy. He grimaced though as his hearing aid decided to try and flicker back on.

"Well let's go find your-"

"Damn it!"

"They're over here!"

Clint instinctively brought the child close to his chest as the battery died possibly for good. He had a choice. He could kill the woman and risk capture... Or leave her alive and take the young boy to safety. He was running before he could give any more thought. Tearing through the forest, he did not dare slip back into the shopping area. He was sure that whoever the kidnappers were with would search there first. So he traveled through the forest. All the while, the boy grabbed his shirt and repeated dada over and over again. Clint could feel his hand tighten and his breath keep the gentle repetitiveness of the word.

It took hours to reach a familiar location. A safe house purchased under the name Phil Coulson, an agent of SHIELD, on the outskirts of the pain in the butt city of London. He sighed in relief entering the building. Anything and everything was carried in there, including batteries. No more flickering in and out of conversations. He carried the kid over to the couch, before deciding it was better to carry him. How old did a kid have to be before they didn't need cribs?

Not that he was going to keep him of course! The baby had parents somewhere... Probably... No for sure!

But maybe he was all alone...

Oh no. He was getting attached to the little guy.

With this worrying thought, he frantically searched the house for batteries, keeping the kid comfortable sleeping against his chest. He nearly jumped with joy when he found them in a drawer in the kitchen area. Still holding the sleepy child, he removed his hearing aid and began to replace his worn battery. He was able to place the hearing aid back to it's proper place in time to hear whimpering from the baby.

"Aw, what's a matter wittle guy? Are you hungwy?" He asked. The baby whined some more and then smiled. Clint blinked at the sudden change. But he wasn't confused for long and started to gag, much to the delight of the baby. Oh god, and he thought the monkey poop was bad. Well, it still was. And they were throwers. But this little guy had something fierce.

He knew he had to change him, but there was no way that there would be changing supplies in a safe house for super spies. Still, he was a spy. He'd make do.

* * *

"Do I want to know?" Fury questioned rubbing his good eye. It had taken three days for Clint to return to America. Fury hadn't asked then, but now he wished he had.

"Kid was going to be killed."

"And you couldn't find his parents? Why do I not believe that?"

"Directer Fury, I searched for missing children information. Not one looks like him."

"Then you want to keep him?" Fury questioned raising a brow. Clint stiffened.

"I want to find his parents."

"And what if they are missing? If they're dead? He's a British citizen Barton."

"That's just it. I couldn't find anything."

"And you want us to."

"You have connections. And this little fella deserves to grow up with his family."

Fury groaned.

"Fine. We'll have agents look into you little... Fella's family. Until then he needs a name."

"What?"

"You can't expect me to put fella on his birth certificate do you?"

"He can't have an American birth certificate! He's British!"

"It's just so we don't have other agencies breathing down our necks. Besides, as of right now he's an illegal alien. Giving him an identity here will keep him safe as a U.S. citizen."

Clint thought for a moment before answering.

"Jeremy. Jeremy Archer.

"Fine. Jeremy Archer Barton it is."

"Wait!? My last name?!"

"You found him. He looks somewhat like you. And he calls you dad. Either you play dad, or the kid is sent back to England to their government."

Clint didn't argue with Fury. Though a little irked his basic life with basic wants had been completely wrecked, it was all for the little boy who was apparently targeted by killers.

 **Now don't kill me. I have read many stories where Harry is taken in by the avengers. They are good and all, but I couldn't help but notice an under appriciated Avenger reminded me of an under appriciated wizard. He's been bashed, hated and generally disliked. He's been the butt of jokes, and the victim to many hurtful pranks,**

 **Ladies and gentleman, I don't think it's a big secret when I say Hawkeye and Ron Weasley.**

 **Let me know what you guys think with a review. For all I know this is a dead on arrival concept.**


	2. Just the little changes

**So given two different timelines, I chose the more modern. Partially because it will be easier,but also because the Wizarding world doesn't seem to move very fast. So yeah...**

Clint carried the newly dubbed Jeremy into his small living quarters on the SHEILD Helicarrier. It was dark, minimal light for hiding, a small mini fridge and a microwave along with a bed and television. Essentially, a man cave.

"Well, looks like I need to make some changes Huh Jer?"

"No." The toddler stated with a pout. Clint chuckled at the litte guy. Fury had estimated Jeremy was about a year and half with how he was saying basic words. And seemed to understand them. Perhaps he was in an environment with other loud people who would ignore him? Or maybe Clint was looking to deep into it.

"No Huh? But you need a place to sleep. Thank god Coulson is getting a crib for you."

The blue eyed tot blinked at him in confusion.

"You have no idea what I'm saying do you?"

"No."

"That's what I thought Jerry."

"No-o," the tot whined.

"What?"

Clint awaited an answer before remembering he was talking to a very young toddler. One who had only said dada, no and baby gibberish. Was it normal for kids this young to be talking? He had seen two year olds able to communicate with their parents with a variety of words. But how was he supposed to know how old this kid was?

Was he a small almost two year old? Actually that would make a lot of sense. Especially if he was living near that dingy England area that felt trapped in the past. Heck, if not for the candy and ice cream there, he would assume he traveled back in time.

"Alright, moving on... Kids like movies," he said sitting down with the tot on his lap. Clint didn't hesitate to share a little secret with the kid.

All recorded on the television, were his favorite movies. And they weren't action or horror or all rated R movies. Most were kids movies. Sappy endings and romantic comedies also were peppered through the choices. But he figured there was one that would entertain his young friend.

He pressed play revealing a live action film with a blond haired protagonist living in a small home with his mother and grandparents.

"Willy Wonka is my favorite movie. I think you'll like it too," he said with a grin. Clint grinned seeing little Jeremy staring in awe at the screen. They had just gotten to the part where Charlie had told his family he had gotten a golden ticket when Jeremy started whining.

"Aw, what's a matter bud?" Clint asked. Jeremy scrunched up his face, thick alligator tears threatened to spill over as he began to cry out. Had Clint been a lesser man he would have jumped. That kid had quite the pair of lungs.

"Did you go in your pants again? Are your teeth hurting? Are you tired?" He asked.

"He's probably hungry," a voice interjected. Clint glanced at the door to his room with mild interest as he lightly bounced Jeremy. There stood Agent Maria Hill, holding bags of diapers and small jars. Probably baby food considering the diapers.

And now that Clint thought about it, the baby hadn't really eaten since he had gotten him back to the states. Was that normal? He didn't know. Instead, he focused on giving the little tyke something to eat. Maria, the prepared agent she was, already had pulled a jar and small spoon out for Clint to use. Clint gave a small smile as he began feeding the kid.

"Willy Wonka?"

"Shut it Hill. It's a good movie."

"Never said it wasn't."

"But you were thinking it."

Hill rolled her eyes.

"So what's the kid's alibi?"

"We're calling him Jeremy," Clint answered.

"No!"

"Aw c'mon Jer-"

"No!"

"You need to eat."

The tot didn't say anything and just opened his mouth. Clint blinked in confusion. He spoon fed the tot not understanding what the nos were about.

"You are an odd baby Jeremy."

"No!"

"Jeremy."

"No!"

"Does he always say no when you say Jeremy?" Maria asked with a smirk. Clint and little Jeremy looked at one another.

"Jeremy."

"No."

"Jeremy."

"No."

"Jer."

"No."

"Jerry?"

"No."

"I don't thing he likes Jeremy."

"No," the baby said. Clint groaned.

"Why did I get the kid who can't just take a name?"

"I think it's a good thing."

"Are you kidding? It's hard enough dealing with a baby. Now he can't even just use a name I give him?"

"I think he knows his name."

Clint stared at her and then back at the messy faced baby with mashed peas smeared on his cheeks. Puffing out a sigh he stared the boy in the eye.

"Daniel?"

"No."

"Tobias?"

"No."

"Levi?"

"No."

"Fred?"

"No," the red head moaned rather than stated.

"Stanley?"

"No."

"Arthur?"

"No."

"What about Ronald?" Maria interjected.

"Ron? Really? That's the best you can come up with?"

"The baby's not complaining."

"Ron."

To Clint's suprise, the little red head didn't say no.

"You like Ron?"

The little guy gave a gummy grin with little white pearls peaking out.

"Great. Now what?"

"Well, I don't know about you, but I have to meet with Agent May."

With that she left the room leaving the archer agent and the baby favoring the name Ron over the name Clint had given him.

"You know I've got to tell Fury don't you?"

The baby giggled in pure delight clapping his hands. Scooping him into a comfortable hold, he left his room to alert Fury of the recent development.

* * *

"So let me get this straight, the baby told you it's name was Ron?"

"It was the only name it wouldn't say no to," Clint admitted hiding his embarrassment. Fury glared at Clint.

"You're lucky we haven't given the birth certificate to the Public Health Service."

"Thank you sir."

"Hopefully this will help us locate his family," he said effectively ending the conversation.

* * *

"You will die! You filthy Mud blood loving whore! You will suffer like your filthy mud blood loving husband!" Bellatrix laughed pointing her wand at a young woman. The woman stood tall, slightly afraid but very angry. Tears pooled in her eyes as she stared down at the mad woman.

"No. No I won't," she spoke clearly revealing her own wand. Never had she been more thankful that Augusta was watching her son for the weekend. Granted she and her husband were going to be updating the wards, not fighting for their lives when they had made the decision.

It had been a suprise when she and her husband were attacked. Frank was unconscious as it was and Alice was sure she would have suffered the same fate had Bellatrix not been in obvious pain causing her to move more lethargically. A split second was all that saved Alice from being in the same questionable predicament as her husband. And as much as she wanted to rush over to Frank and make sure he was okay, she could not risk turning her back on the mad woman Death Eater.

Bellatrix fired a crucio as Alice summoned her patronus to protect herself. Light filled the room as a bear appeared of magic, protecting Alice from the onslaught of Bellatrix's fury. The bear plowed through Bellatrix's unforgivable curser, fueled by the joyful memory of holding Neville after being born and Frank's unbridled joy and pride on his face even as James Potter grew nervous with his own wife going into labor.

It was a wonderful day.

She watched as her patronus overwhelmed Bellatrix, making her drop her wand. She screeched as she reached for it. But Alice was faster. She grabbed the wand and without thought, snapped it into little pieces. Bellatrix screamed but the words were lost on Alice's ears as she felt grim satisfaction. The woman didn't deserve her magic. Not after what she did to her husband.

"Alice?" a familar voice grunted. She almost cried in relief hearing a positively familar voice.

"I-in here," she cried out feeling drained. She didn't have to worry. She held Bellatrix's broken wand in he left hand, and an old friend had come to help with the wards, was more than capable of dealing with her, "I'm in here Alastor."

 **Ain't I a stinker? First I give you nonsensical fluff in the beginning of the chapter and now this!**

 **Though, back onto a someone coherent track, I really was suprised to see everyone following, favoriting and reviewing. This has got to be the fastest response I've seen on any of my stories. And over fifty follows. Over thirty favorites. And over ten reviews... You guys have made me so happy.**

 **So here I am trying to make you all happy. Let me know what you think with a review.**


	3. As time goes by

**Okay so... I know in Ultron, Clint has a wife and kids. I'm going to ignore that. Yes it's sweet. But for the sake of my story I'm going to stick with first Avenger movie.**

Fury glared at the computer screens before him with bitter disappointment. It had been two weeks since Barton had found little "Ron". Two weeks since he had reported back about some cult group sacrificing children in England.

Two weeks, and he had no new information. Every agent in Europe had reported in and nothing.

Two weeks and Agent Barton was wrapped around the little red head's finger.

Fury scowled. They should not have this kid. But no one would claim him from the UK. And Fury wasn't so sure it was a good idea to return the kid without his family. Even if he didn't have a problem with the lack of family, there had been suspicious activity among members of parliament and the royal family lately that made him wary of what Europe was hiding. Whatever it was, it wasn't good. Although it did allow him to find a Natasha Romanoff of the Red Room for recruiting.

But he didn't like that the mission wasn't safe enough to take the kid. And so, by extension, the kid had to stay behind. And of course Coulson and other agents weren't available to watch the kid. Especially since he was in an eye poking phase. He was not a goddamn babysitter.

Even as he held Ron on his hip while Clint was off recruiting Ms. Romanoff, who was repeatedly reaching his hands towards his eyepatch and good eye. Bright blue eyes glistening with curiosity as a little dribble of spit bubbled from his mouth.

No, it was not cute. And no form of torture could ever get Fury to say otherwise.

Even as time went by, nothing could ever be proven. Just like no one quite knew how Barton was able to sucsessfully recruit agent Romanoff.

* * *

Alice mourned silently as she held her young son Neville in her arms. Her hand laced with her husband who lay unconscious in St Mungos. A letter had already been sent to his mother Augusta. Though she was lucky to have escaped with a clean bill of health, she wished she could have done more for Frank.

He wasn't nearly as well. He had taken to muttering to himself, seeing things that weren't there. Not even acknolowlodging her, his mother or even Neville.

She hoped that he would recover soon. Though the doctor seemed to think otherwise, she could tell Neville was missing his daddy, just like she was missing her husband.

Augusta was especially agitated. Having Frank, her only son in St. Mungos for who knows how long while her daughter in-law had been relatively unharmed... Well, the woman was as cunning as any Slytherin with the verbal tongue lashing she gave under the pretense of grieving.

That woman was practically a viper with her choice of words. Alice was just lucky Neville was too young to even remember such language from his grandmother.

* * *

"So this is your quarters," Clint stated giving Natasha a tour of where she would be staying until fully enlisted.

"And where will you be?" she questioned rather bluntly taking Clint by surprise.

"What? That was rather blunt Ms. Master Assasin," Clint joked. Natasha held a steely glare. Clint would have rolled his eyes if he knew that she wouldn't kill him. But he didn't know this assasin/spy very well so he wouldn't go all out in aggrivating her.

"If we're going to be working together, I'd rather know where you are."

Not partner. Not ally. Her wording made it very clear that she expected only professional relationships here in SHIELD. Well, Clint could live with that.

"I don't think so. I think I'll wait to tell," he responded. Her face gave no indication of her reaction. Instead, she entered her room quietly and shut the door. Clint chuckled to himself, and with a spring in his step, made his way to his own quarters. He was more than certain Fury would be there waiting with little Ronniekins on his lap.

Unless his parents were found of course. Actually, now that he thought about it, with SHIELD's resources, Ron was probably already reunited with his family. No it did not make him teary eyed at the thought. Nor did he think about maybe looking into SHIELD files and learning his address so he could visit.

With less spring in his step he made his way to his room. His footfall echoed throughout the empty halls of the steel enclosure. Ready to walk into his little room with Fury no doubt waiting to get his report on meeting and recruiting the red haired man killer.

Entering his room, he had to fight a smile blooming on his face when he saw Fury sitting on the end of his bed, stoic expression and steely gaze, bouncing a giggly red haired blue eyed baby.

"Director Fury," Clint stated with an amused tone peaking through his voice. Fury's eye narrowed at Clint's amusement. Little Ron laughed at the otherwise would be tense environment. Clint walked over to Fury and took Ron from him and placed him comfortably on his hip. Ron reached his hand out towards Clint's ear poking and grabbing at his hearing aid with wide and curious eyes.

"I expect to have your report thing in the morning," Fury grumbled standing up. Clint had an amused expression.

"Going soft?" Clint joked.

"Giving you time to watch your ward."

"Mine? You didn't find his family?"

"No child with his discription and assumed age was reported missing. No family was alerted to the police about suspicious activities that failed into the category of "Ron" missing. No birth records match his foot print."

"So he doesn't exist."

"Not according to the British government."

"So, that makes him a little American now huh?"

"And your responsibility."

Clint couldn't hide his smile even after Fury left the room.

"Looks like we're going to be together for a long time little Archer," he murmured to the overly happy tot.

However Clint didn't know how long. He assumed that Fury would eventually find a relative.

But five years of waiting, and they knew as much as they did when Clint first saved him. As it was, Ron seemed to be a happy six year old boy who just graduated kindergarten in a New York school under his American given name. Though given his lack of prior identity Clint had created a sob story about a belated wife who had passed a year after Ron was born to cancer.

Given he was probably a year and a half when they found him, Agent Romanoff offered to share her birthdate with the younger red head. So he celebrated on April second, alongside the independent woman of an agent. Or Auntie Tahsa as he liked to call her. Just like all the other agents he had grown up around, he had called then his Aunt and Uncles.

The best in Clint's opinion was Fury's name. Seeing rookie agents freak out when Ron ran up and latched onto Fury's leg and called him Uncle Nicky. This was one of those days.

"But Uncle Nicky, why can't I go with daddy to see the arch-ree range?"

"You're too young to be shooting things. And too old to be latched onto my leg," Fury stated continuing to walk with a smiling red haired boy on his leg. God only knows how he could look intimidating with the koala like red head on his leg. Or how many times Ron had latched onto him for him to be able to make the walk completely normal.

Life had been as normal as could be considering that he was growing up next within a government agency.

 **So I searched for Ron's birthday and then logically, I remembered that SHIELD wouldn't be able to know his birthday if they couldn't find anything else about him. So he now shares his birthday with the Spider Assassin.**

 **And this is my update...**

 **Not terribly proud of it. But I am absolutely thrilled that all of you are reading this. Please let me know what you think of this newest chapter with a little review.**

 **Also, feel free to send some ideas. I'm open to all kinds of ideas.**


	4. A taste of power

A day above in the SHIELD Helicarrier was suprisingly more normal than one would think. Scientists in labs, assistants and agents walking the halls, assassins practicing their techniques and poster leaders creating idealistic illusions and covers to feed to the common minded sheep of the populace. But alas, normalcy was just too boring it seemed.

At least, that's what went through Fury's mind when he saw Fitz and Simmons searching frantically for the wayward ward of the Helicarrier. That in and of itself wouldn't be too strange, the little red head had taken after Clint with his fascination with traveling through the air ducts, as well as Natasha and Coulson with his sneaky little running off habit while being able to convince everyone that they were crazy for thinking he was going to run off before running off all together. Really sneaky little shit.

While Fury was being roped into helping find the little British born terror, Ron was looking at some of the jets aboard the ship. Hiding among the equipment, not one agent noticed he was there. He kept glancing at the jets trying to find the one his daddy often used. He missed him a lot.

He knew his daddy was busy working for Uncle Fury protecting people. But he still missed him lots. He wished his daddy was around more. There was just something special about a daddy that made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Kind of like when he was with Auntie Tasha, but not like when he was with Uncle Nicky or Uncle Phil.

He hiccuped, holding back tears. He was a big boy. Six years old and raised among the smartest government agents he knew. He would not cry.

He just really wanted his daddy to hug and know he wasn't coming home with boo boos. Pulling himself into a ball, he felt an odd tickle in his tummy. His stomach began to twist and turn uncomfortably and his vision contorted blurring his world. He closed his eyes feeling pressure all over his body. His ears popped and the funny feeling disappeared.

"Holy shit!" an all too familiar voice cried out in surprise. Ron's eyes popped open to see he wasn't in the hanger, but in his daddy's quarters. He was sitting on his daddy's bed, and standing in front of him smelling kind of stinky and looking grungy and tired.

"Daddy!" Ron cried out jumping off the bed and tackling Clint, holding him in a hug despite the terrible sweaty smell. Clint stared down at Ron, then wrapped his arms around him.

Clint was baffled, knowing that Ron was not in the room when he entered. And yet appearing out of thin air on his own bed of all places. Thoughts ran rampant in his head both in awe and concern. Awe from the what he had just seen. Concern from what he had seen others react.

He didn't say anything, he just kneeled down pulling his son into a closer hug. He kissed his temple in a rare show of touchy-feely affection.

"Daddy? How'd I get here?" Ron then questioned. Clint didn't say anything at first. He had to pick his words carefully.

"Ron, you know you are my special little boy."

"Yes daddy. You and Uncle Fury say so often."

Clint chuckled at Ron's innocence.

"We do don't we?"

"Uh huh."

"Well it's true. And it's not just that you're on a flying ship either," he stated in a positive tone.

"Is it cause I like to crawl in your air vents?" Ron questioned.

"No. It's not that. Ron, do you remember when I went on a mission a few months ago with Mr. Howlett?"

"Who?"

Clint sighed trying of a way to describe the short, angry, hairy man without giving Ron fuel for bad name making that would bite him in the butt later.

"The man who had the growly voice?"

"Oh! The Wolfy-man!"

Clint held back a laugh.

"That's right. Wolverine."

"What 'bout him?"

"Well he's special too."

"How?"

"Well he... Well he can grow claws."

"Claws?!"

"Uh huh."

"Can I grow claws too?!" he asked excitedly.

"No."

"Oh."

"But, I think you can teleport."

Ron gasped with surprise painted on his face. Confusion blossomed on his face after a moment, "What's teleport?"

"It's when you are one place, and then you appear somewhere completely different."

"Like popping out of vents?"

"Kind of. Except, you don't need the vents-"

"But I like the vents!"

Oh this was going to take a while.

* * *

Natasha was suprised when she came to alert Clint in which that trained agents had lost his son again, only to find Ron sitting on Clint's bed with a very serious expression on his face.

"Clint. Ron."

Both boys turned to the Black Widow, Ron a little more reserved than his usual exuberant greeting. His brow furrowed in a foreign expression.

"Auntie Tasha? Am I a mutant?"

Natasha glared at Clint. Clint sent her a look back.

"Ronnie here teleported into my room today," he explained in an even tone. Natasha's eyes widened ever so slightly and looked back at Ron.

"I'm suprised too Auntie Tasha. One minute, I was looking for daddy's plane, the next, I'm here with daddy."

"I see," she stated noting in the back of her mind his new found quirk of reading faces. She was going to hurt Coulson for teaching him how to read faces. He should not be reading her face to tell when she was concerned or feeling a threatened emotion.

"We are going to talk to Fury about seeing Professor Xavier this Saturday. To see if he really does have the X-gene."

A silent message was sent between their eyes. After being with SHIELD for a year, she had met Clint's Ward, and a week later she had figured out that despite similarities, Ron was not related to Agent Clint Barton. If he didn't have an X-gene, then it could be a clue as to who his biological parents were.

 **Okay so anyone notice that in Doctor Dolittle with Eddie Murphy, the camp that his youngest daughter goes to is named Camp Hawkeye?**

 **And the chapter... How bizarre.**

 **My logic, if Ron showed powers, I would believe that people would assume he was a mutant with the X-gene.**

 **So please don't hate me, and please review.**


	5. A day in the life

"I'm telling you, there is no one aboard your ship that has the X-gene that we didn't know previously," Professor Charles Xaiver restated to Nick Fury.

"Thank you for your time Professor."

"Despite that," Professor Xaiver continued, "I hope to meet this youth."

"I'll discuss it with his father," Fury answered diplomatically. Despite having decent relations with the man, the government was not open pro mutant protection. He could not directly be his ally. Nor Xavier his. But Clint was an agent. He could act in the best interest of his Ward.

Xaiver nodded in acknowledgement before closing the video connection. Fury was left alone with his thoughts. By his line of work, he should tell the World Security Counsel. But there was something about the way they ran things that made him hold his tongue about the young boy's odd non repeated ability.

It had been three weeks since he had been alerted of the odd occurrence of popping into Clint's quarters and seen the footage of him vanishing from the hanger. Since then, there had been nothing.

* * *

"Uncle Phil? Why's Auntie Tahsa 'ttacking daddy?"

"She's not attacking him Ro-"

"But she kicked him in his no-no spot."

Coulson did his best not to cringe seeing Clint fall to the floor clutching his family jewels while Natasha smirked above him. Ron cocked his head to the side curiously, half-debating if he should laugh or not.

"Did you really have to do that?! I thought we agreed not below the belt?!" Clint wheezed. Natasha merely smirked at the fallen archer. She held out her hand in what appeared to be a gesture to help him up. He gave her a look and swatted her hand away. She crossed her arms bemused as he slowly stood up, standing with his legs as close together as he could get them without hurting his abused manhood.

He gave Ron a comforting smile as he waddled over to him outside of the sparring room.

"You okay daddy?"

"No Ronnie. Your Aunt Tasha cheats."

Ron's jaw dropped as he stared at his self proclaimed Aunt.

"Auntie Tasha. Why'd you cheat?"

"It's not cheating. It's proving a point," she vaguely explained.

"But you hit his no-no spot."

Natasha smirked at Clint.

"No-no spot?"

"Oh please, like you have a better way to explain it," Clint grumbled. Natasha raised a brow. She walked over to Ron and looked him in his eyes.

"I kicked your daddy between his legs and it hit his private parts. Private parts are sensitive. So when I kicked him it hurt a lot. Never let anyone touch you there. Make sure you strike first. And you strike hard."

Ron's face lit up.

"Okay Auntie Tasha!"

"Stop corrupting my son," Not bothering to tell Rin otherwise.

"I'm not corrupting him. I'm teaching him."

"Yeah, to kick me in the cr- no no spot."

Phil chuckled and gestured toward Ron to come over to his side while Natasha and Clint started to argue about teaching Ron self defense or fighting. Ron watched as they started Sparing again. He didn't like the way they seemed to be right back into fighting after his daddy had already been hurt in his no-no spot. He wanted them to not hurt each other.

When his Aunt Tasha threw a punch to his Clint's face, something spectacularly strange happened. Her leather gloves disappeared and were replaced with large feathery pillows. Upon contact with Clint's face, small feathers burst from the fluffy mass. Both stopped their attacks and starred at the pillows on Natasha's hands.

Everyone stared in confusion. Each questioning where the pillow came from.

"Did it hurt daddy?" Ron finally piped up breaking the silence. The adults turned their focus to him.

"Uh, no. Ron did you... Did you do that?"

"No. I don' know what happened. But you're not hurt so I'm happy."

Clint smiled at his Ward.

"Yeah bud. I'm fine."

* * *

"Fred and George, it's not going to move. It hasn't moved in months," Charlie softly stated.

"But Charlie-"

"Come on guys. Percy needs to get his school supplies."

"But he's got all summer," Fred whined.

"And we want to be here when it changes," George added.

Charlie turned his head from the twins to a clock in their living that didn't have numbers like a regular clock, but locations. And the hands were faces of the Weasley family. From Arthur and Molly to little Ginny Weasley. All were up to date in appearance except for one silver hand. It was a baby that's hand seemed to be stuck on traveling.

It never seemed to move except for the occasional move to lost or "dentist" whatever that was. Fred and George liked to spend time in the room planning pranks goofing off and imagining what their little brother was off doing. Since he wasn't in mortal peril, Fred and George liked to imagine he was going all over the country finding all the cool hiding places and would come home in their dad's arms, with lots of funny stories of where he had been.

It was better to think of that than to imagine who had kidnapped him raising him as a death eater's child. It wasn't much of a secret considering Moody had been involved with the case from the beginning and never bothered to hide or sugar coat it for them.

* * *

"What do you mean your gloves turned into pillows?" Fitz questioned.

"Just what I said. My gloves were turned into pillows," she stated showing her once gloves and now pillows. Simmons arched a brow and took a closer look at the pillows.

"You know this is highly unorthodox right?"

"Obviously."

"This is incredible. The footage shows it happened. But there is nothing to contest these pillows were even gloves."

"How did this even happen?"

"We believe that Ron made Agent Romanoff's gloves change with his emotions," Coulson stated. Fitzsimmons both looked at Phil like he had grown another head, "He was concerned that Agent Bartonwas going to get hurt after a rather aggressive spar between him and Agent Romanoff. When she went to hit him, her gloves were replaced by pillows."

"You know when I learned Clint had gotten himself a kid, I was expecting more sticky surfaces, drawing on the walls and hissy fits. Not teleporting and pillow making," Agent Simmons joked.

 **So, from what I understand, Percy was a fifth year when Ron was a first year so... Yeah.**

 **So Percy's first year, Ron's on the clock because he's family. And because of this it's obvious he's not dead. This tidbit with Fred and George and Charlie was for Angel Cauldwell who wanted a POV from the Weasleys.**

 **I really enjoyed writing the spar between Romanoff and Barton. I hope you guys enjoyed reading it. Please review.**


	6. Truth from mimicry

"Daddy?"

"Yeah Ron?"

"When can I learn to use your bow?"

Clint glanced down at his charge. He thought he still had a year or two before he asked about learning to use his weapon and God forbid, Natasha's guns.

"Your still a little too small to use my bow bud," Clint answered. Ron pouted clearly not pleased with the answer. Clint ruffled his bright red hair much to Ron's annoyance. Ron's hair wasn't messy though. His hair seemed to lay straight rather than frizz or be unmanageable. A useful little quirk. At least with everyday brushing. That little detail still hadn't brought them any closer to finding Ron's birth family. Not that Ron knew persay... He was just aware that he didn't have a mom. It was practically killing Clint that one day he'd have to tell Ron that he wasn't his dad.

And with that Ron wouldn't call him daddy anymore. And that just didn't sit right in his gut.

The job came first, he had to keep reminding himself. But for years he had been raising the hyper little red head. And he was having a hard time thinking of letting him go. But until then, he'd enjoy raising him every step of the way.

And one of those steps was tickling him senseless. With a toothy grin, he grabbed his pouting boy and began tickling his sides mercilessly making him shriek. His laughter bubbling out from him as he tried to push the archer's hands away. He fell to the floor as he tried kicking in a playful attempt to get Clint to stop. Clint only smirked as he continued to tickle him senseless.

When Ron's face was flushed a deep red, Clint relented smirking as Ron gasped, small bursts of giggles sprang out as his lungs took in air they desperately wanted. He tried to glare at Clint, but his giggles didn't help the glare, nor his youth. In fact Clint chuckled at the pout. He pulled Ron off the ground and ruffled his hair again. Ron groaned but didn't complain. A small smile remained on Ron's face despite wanting to be upset with Clint.

"Aw c'mon Ron. How 'bout we go out tonight and get some fried chicken?"

Ron's grin grew wide at the prospect before turning into a confused frown.

"But won't Auntie Tasha be mad at us?"

Clint scoffed.

"She's your Aunt. Not your mom. So who are you going to listen to? Me? Or Tash?"

"Auntie Tasha. She said that you give me bad ideas."

Clint blinked. An assasin saying that he gave bad ideas. Well that was certainly a first.

"Well, I say we deserve some good ol' fried chicken."

* * *

Ron frowned when his dad was called away from their greasy dinner. He knew his daddy had work but it didn't mean he liked it. He wanted to at least have dinner with him. He tried not to pout when his dad grabbed his tools and left the room, putting it under lockdown for the night. Like he did every night he had to leave him alone.

With a click of the door Ron was left alone. At least for a little bit. Today was Tuesday so that meant that Uncle Phil would come to the room unless he was busy. If he was busy then Auntie Maria would come in. And if they were both busy Uncle Nicky would come in. And if they were all busy, he'd get Aunt-Uncle Fitzsimmons. He didn't know why but everyone called them Fitzsimmons so he did too. And it took about, ten minutes for someone to get there.

With this knowledge and youthful curiousity, he made his way to the door. He had seen his dad take down the lockdown before, in the mornings when he woke him up. He said "Archer Barton in the quiver."

Ron wondered if he could do it too. Staring at the door he said the phrase in his own cute voice. When the door did nothing, he kept trying, slowly sounding more and more like his dad. His eyes widened when the door opened and there was no agent waiting on the other side. With an impish grin, he darted from the room, running down the halls to the big screen room his Uncle Nicky liked to use to explain things. He was sure that was where his dad was.

As he made his way through familiar halls, he hid from unfamiliar agents walking through by ducking into his daddy's air vents. He smiled as they walked by, unaware of his presence. He recalled his Auntie Tasha explaining to him that all good spies could detect hiding little boys whenever she played hide and seek with him. Apparently they weren't as good as his Auntie Tahsa. He nearly giggled at the thought. No one as good as his Aunt Tasha. Cept maybe his daddy when Auntie didn't hit him in his no-no spot.

Once the agent's passed, he slipped out of the vent, continuing to travel on foot. He skipped past all sorts of people talking in the hall ways. Mostly nonsense until he heard two agents having a very odd conversation.

"You're kidding. There is no way in hell that son of a bitch has a kid."

"It's true. Heard Fitzsimmons talking about the brat 'bout an hour ago. I heard from some of the higher ups he stole him. Course, apparently you need level eight clearance."

"Wouldn't surprise me. Circus bastard probably steals anything he can get his hands on. And Fury's only covering his ass for underground connections."

"Ain't that the truth. Can't trust any of those circus freaks."

Ron may not have understood many of those words, but he was familar with freak. That was a mean word. It was a mean name. Freaky was fine if it wasn't a person but freak was bad. And what did them mean by a kid? Was there another kid on the ship he didn't know about?

He didn't say anything though. He remembered what his Aunt Tasha told him about talking to strangers. But as he continued through the halls, their words echoed through his mind clearly. Their tone, inflection, and their pitch echoed mercilessly in his head. Even as he tried to push it to the back of his mind, it still seemed to bother him.

Itcontinued to nag even when he slipped into the screen room where his dad stood stiff straight listening to Uncle Fury's orders.

Ron would have snuck up behind his dad and surprised him with a jump on his back, but his impulsive young mind instead blurted the first thing that came to mind.

"Can't trust any of those circus freaks," he said, mirroring the tone, pitch and inflection used by the man in the hall. Clint's head whipped toward Ron, a look of shock came and quickly dispersed from his face.

"Ron?"

"Daddy?"

"C'mere. Aren't you supposed to be in the room?"

"Wanted to be with you," he muttered walking over. Clint kneeled down, Fury watched from the screen,mild curiousity apparent in his face.

"I know squirt. But I locked the room. And the vents. How did you get out?"

"I used your password."

"My password?"

"Archer Barton in the quiver," he stated sounding eerily like his father. Fury's eye narrowed.

"Ron, that was really impressive," Clint admitted, "Who taught you how to do it?"

Clint would ask about the circus freak comment later. He had a more pressing matter to figure out who has been teaching his boy spy techniques.

"I don't think anybody. I just wanted to see if I could get out of the room like you could."

"Alright," Clint accepted. Ron wasn't exactly normal anyway, be it raised or natural. And perhaps his mimicry just came from years of being raised with spies. Still, he had never heard a mimic quite as spot on as Ron.

"Now tell me, where did you hear that comment you said earlier."

"About the circus freak?"

"Yeah. About the freak," Clint answered somewhat distantly.

"Two guys were talking 'bout someone from the circus stealing a kid and working here. Daddy? Is it true? Is there another kid?"

Clint was going to murder someone. Oh this wasn't going to be easy.

"Uh, no Ron-"

"So they lied? There is no kid stolen by a circus person?"

"Ron. No one was stolen by a circus person. Someone was rescued by an ex circus person."

"Daddy?"

Clint picked up Ron and looked at Fury.

"The mission is in two days?"

"Yes. I expect you to have your alias memorized by then."

"Good."

"Daddy?" Ron asked again now getting a little nervous. The screen went dark, Uncle Nicky's face vanishing.

"Ron, remember how I promised I'd explain why you didn't have a mommy when you got older?"

"Uh huh."

"Well, the truth is, when you were little," he stalled trying to think of the best way to address the situation. Ron tilted his head curiously to the side, his blue eyes shimmering with curiosity, "When you were little... About a year old, I was off, far away in Great Britian-"

"What's that got to do with me daddy?"

 _Everything._

"While I was there," he continued, "I saw two people who stole someone from his family."

Ron's eyes grew wide.

"I was able to save him from whatever they were going to do, but I could never find his mom, or dad. So I brought him home with me. And raised him with love. With care. Like he was my own flesh and blood. I kept searching for his mom and dad, so he could meet them. But I haven't found them."

"Daddy-"

"That baby was you-"

"-I still love you."

Clint was silent. _What?_

"Like I love Auntie Tasha. And Uncle Nicky. And Uncle Phil. And Aunt-Uncle Fitzsimmons. They aren't your brothers and sisters so they can't really be my Aunt's and Uncles but I still like them like that. So I still love you like a daddy. As my forever daddy!"

"Forever daddy?"

"Uh huh. Cause I wanna stay with you forever."

Clint would deny that his heart melted into a puddle of warm goo with his _son's_ declaration.

 **Hi! So the mimicry was based off of Ron mimicking Harry's hissing to enter the chamber of secrets. And while I had a different possible chapter to post, I kind of liked this one more. It's cute, sweet and I enjoyed the reveal of Ron's heritage personally. So sue me if it's schmaltzy. Actually don't, I couldn't afford it.**

 **I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and hope to see some reviews.**


	7. A day in the park

**So as some of you know, this isn't the first time I have posted a chapter seven. In fact, if you had seen my original post, you would recognize that this chapter looks nothing like the previous one. Well this was actually going to be chapter six before I decided that the chapter six I posted would be chapter six and this may or may not be used. But after the disappointment I felt with writing it, I decided to instead greatly edit this chapter and post it as the new chapter seven. I hope you all enjoy.**

Despite learning that his daddy wasn't his birth daddy, summer went by slowly for Ron as his family kept being called on missions and he had no school to distract him from the hours they were away. His dad would work hard to make missions short, but there were times he was gone for two whole weeks.

Ron wished that instead of the weird teleporting thing he did once, he could speed up time so he could see everyone sooner. As it was, he was spending a lot of time with his Uncle Nicky. He never seemed to leave the ship for more than a day so he spent a lot of time with him. Ron wasn't quite sure why, since his Uncle Nicky was just as scary as his Auntie Tasha sometimes and loads more scary than Uncle Phil. But it was just how it was.

It was during one of these times that Nick had his first odd occurrence around Ron happen. It started out as a normal day when his daddy wasn't around. Ron received a message from his daddy saying how much he missed him and that he'd be home as soon as he could. His Uncle Nick had come in to his daddy's kitchen just when Ron was climbing on the refrigerator trying to grab a box of cereal. Uncle Nick had pulled him off the refrigerator and told him he needed to stop crawling on top of the furniture, followed by grabbing a box of Cheerios instead of Ron's favored sugary cereal Cocoa Puffs. Ron grumbled about him being a kill joy as Nick made coffee using Clint's stash of Turkish coffee.

After enjoying coffee at Clint's expense, he grabbed a puzzle from Clint's closet for Ron to work on while he did his paper work. A thousand pieces to make an archery range. And as frustrating as it was for the young red head, he wanted to finish the picture to show his daddy. It was about four hours later when he took Ron off the ship to grab lunch out. They grabbed sandwiches at a small stand, BLT for Nick Fury, and a grilled cheese for Ron. That was things went weird.

They had sat in a park on a wooden bench. A few birds had appeared and Ron had taken to feeding them small pieces of his sandwich. He was clearly amused with the birds that had gathered. Fury didn't think anything about it at first, but about a dozen birds later, he spoke up, "You're not going to have any lunch if you keep feeding those birds."

"No I'm not," Ron said defiantly showing his grilled cheese. Fury didn't say anything as he saw the sandwich had not gotten smaller since he last had seen Ron eat it. About half the sandwich remained, just as warm as before, and had been picked apart feeding countless birds. Teleporting, pillows and now grilled sandwiches.

Somehow it was bizarrely underwhelming. That was until he noticed they were being watched.

Men in various forms of clothing were watching Ron with serious, grim and curious expressions on their faces. They all kept glancing back at him and the young Barton. Normally he would brush it off as a black man being with a pale red haired boy odd, but each person held too similar expressions to be coincidence. Two in particular seemed to have a quick debate before returning their attention to them. Fury placed an arm over Ron's shoulder in a familiar fluid motion. Ron looked up at him only to notice his eyes darting over various individuals at the park. Fury stood from the bench confidently, pulling Ron into his arms. Ron wrapped his legs around Fury's waist in a familiar manner, still holding onto what remained of his lunch and taking a bite.

Fury began to walk with the same level intimidation he used when going to interigate criminals. The people moved quickly their bodies tensing, each one keeping Fury in sight. One man in particular walked up rather casually his face appeared warm and friendly, but Fury had seen the man's exact face on Phil. One that he only used when he had to play nice with someone he didn't like.

"Hello sir. Fine day for an outing isn't it?" he asked innocently.

"I would say so," Nick stated, his eye focusing on the man in front of him while trying also to track the others in his sight. The man continued smiling as his gaze fell to Ron.

"He really enjoys that grilled cheese huh?"

"I would hope so. It's what he wanted for lunch," Fury replied somewhat humoring the man with small talk.

"Step son?"

"I don't see how it concerns you," Fury stated. The man stared into Fury's good eye. Fury felt an odd head ache grow in his head as the man continued to stare.

"So not your son... Then I truly am sorry," he said reaching into his coat for something. Fury's eye widened when he saw something thin and narrow start to appear from his coat. He used his left hand and hit a nerve on the back of his neck. The man, unprepared crumpled to the ground. The others moved quickly, their faces stony and their bodies set to fight. Nick Fury tightened his grip. Ron hid his face in Fury's shoulder. Ron's arms tightened feeling the tenseness in the air. Nick shot forward, using his years of training, he used his left arm and pulled his gun. Most of the men stopped approaching but reached into their own pockets that had a narrow bulge that sent odd alarms in Fury's mind. With the accuracy rivaling a professional marksman, he shot three consecutive bullets hitting three of their hands.

Ron whimpered as Fury pressed on. As much as he wanted to bring them in to interigate, he didn't need Ron to see the darker side of government work yet. He didn't need to tell his dad about it either. Though he was sure that SHIELD agents would be in the park to take the men into custody.

He heard the men cursing. One of them had muttered something about a muggle? No he heard right. Clearly said muggle. He'd have to look it up later when he wasn't being threatened with one of his top agent's child.

" _Locomotor Mortis!_ " One of the men cried out. Fury glanced back to see a fast moving steam of light traveling uncomfortably similar to a bullet. Reflexsively, he jumped to the right narrowly avoiding the odd energy. Another voice cried out, _Petrificus Totalus._ Light shot past him as he continued running, gaining distance between their attackers. Nonsense words blurred together until he grew close to unaware civilians. Glancing back, the men had disappeared.

Ron was kept under ship arrest until Clint returned from his mission. And two weeks after that. Though it only frustrated SHIELD agents as nothing could be found. There were no video cameras in the area of the park Fury and Ron had their lunch, nor had any street cameras outside the park had footage of the men leaving. Almost like they had vanished into thin air. Just like Ron's little teleporting trick.

SHIELD kept an open file for each time something similar happened as time passed.

While time did pass, strange occurrences from grand to forgettable seemed to happen. Each member of Ron's make shift family all had their stories. Like when Ron learned how bitter coffee was and thought it needed to be sweeter, all the coffee aboard the Helicarrier turned to hot chocolate when he was eight, or when Fitz and Simmons were literally stuck at the hip for ten hours after they had an arguement when Ron about two months later.

But the people kept appearing when the oddities happened on the ground. And only then.

"When are we going to find these bastards," Clint growled.

"Clint, calm down. We don't want to scare Ron," Natasha stated with an icy undertone.

"It's been years. I don't want him to get hurt by those psychos."

"Clint. We don't know if they are even connected to the two you saved him from years ago."

"What else could it be? They show up every time something odd happens, doesn't matter who's with him."

"Clint-"

"We've had to pull him out of school! These people showed up at his school! They did something to his teacher's memories remember!? They could have hurt him," he ended quietly.

Natasha didn't say anything. Out of all the sides of Clint she had been able to see over the years, his "Daddy" side. The deadly assassin with only one goal in mind, protect his son. This was side that anyone who knew Ron, knew to avoid. It could be cute when he was being paternal. But the other half, was absolutely terrifying.

Clint punched a wall in rage, "I just don't know what to do anymore."

* * *

Ron lay across his bed mildly irritated. Most children would be thrilled to be out of school. Ron hated it. He didn't have many friends before the odd things started happening. And with every odd incident, and the odd people who showed up, he was being smothered. Being eight going nine, he felt he was a big boy. Well, big enough to not be watched by a hawk.

He wanted to be able to go outside. And not just in some government sanctioned facility roped off with spies watching him. And not in Xavier's school where some of the students had tried to scare a power out of him after hearing about his teleportation and transformation incidents. He wanted to go somewhere where he wouldn't be watched like he had since he was a tot.

He wanted it more than anything at that moment. A funny feeling twinges in his stomach. His eyes widened as he recalled the last time he had felt it. His stomach gave a violent twist as he felt his body compress. With a sudden lurch, he wasn't in the bed room anymore. Rather, had been sent to a sidewalk, next to a building that was going to be torn down for a Starbucks.

 **So this is the what I've posted. Please review, and if you reviewed before, feel free to PM me with your thoughts of this change.**


	8. Strange as it is

**Read the previous chapter! Especially if you read shortly after I posted it the first time! You know who you are! Or maybe not. Go check it out. If you've read it, you may proceed to read. If not. See what I have changed before you are confused out of your mind trying to understand this piece of... Well let's call it work...**

Ron stared at the desolate buildings before him. Why was he here? He didn't recognize this place. He remembered places he had been, so far and few in between. Parks, food stands, occasional restaurants, and his elementary school. But never once had he seen buildings in such disarray. From the dark wood and boarded up windows, by appearance, he wanted to leave quickly and find a pay phone.

But there seemed to be something that compelled him not just to stay, but to enter the building. It was a warm buzzing feeling in his chest. Like bees making honey. He glanced around, not seeing any number of SHIELD agents watching him for once. He looked back at the worn and ragged door.

With caution, he walked up to the door, like his he had seen his Uncle Phil do when working in the practice room. With each step, the buzzing grew more excited. He almost turned around and ran, but he knew his Auntie Tasha wouldn't run away from anything weird. No, she'd investigate. When he was a mere two feet from the building, something amazing happened. The building before him seemed to fix itself.

Gone were the boards and broken glass. In were new windows with thick curtains. Out was the worn door, in was a well kept painted door with a fancy golden colored knocker. He looked around the front for any machines or projectors that would hides it's appearance. He didn't see anything. Self preservation and curiousity warred within his being, speaking in his Aunt Tasha and His daddy's voice.

Listening to his Aunt Tasha, he touched the door knob, only for the door to open for him. He jumped back in suprise as a man of Asain decent stood before him with a warm smile and shaved head.

"Hello young one, decided to come in now?"

Ron blinked in confusion. The urge to flee grew in his gut despite the warm buzzing that still existed.

"I just wanted to see if you had a phone."

The man continued to smile.

"I believe we have one inside-"

"You either do or you don't."

The man's smile didn't waver.

"We have many ways of communicating in here. It's a little hard to keep track of them all."

Ron, still wary, glanced back at the street. Few people passed, none looked very safe. Scratch that two of them were carrying knives and were not SHIELD agents or humble collectors if the bandanas on their arms were any indication. Yeah, looks a lot like one of the undercover agents who went to destroy an extremist organization.

Ron decided that he would take his chances inside. Besides, he was sure that it wasn't that big inside. And he was sure their airvents would be big enough to venture through for him to escape.

Steping inside, he felt the man place his hand on his shoulder. Ron looked back up at him.

"I am Wong. You are?"

"Uh. Ron."

He couldn't say anything more. His eyes widened with pure shock as he saw a grand hall way filled with numerous doors that should not have been able to fit inside either the run down, or the revealed beauty of the buildings he had seen.

"A bit suprising isn't it?" Wong stated more than inquired with his smile still in place. Ron nodded, quickly noting that there wasn't any large vents like in the Helicarrier or in his old school. The walls seemed to be saturated in something incredibly foreign, and yet so welcome as his body felt a content buzz circulate as he stood.

A light pressure on his back from Wong's hand had him moving forward into the halls. He took note of each turn they made, more confused as to how something so large fit into something so small.

Left, left, right, forward, left, forward, right, and into a room with a deep blue colored door. He speechless when he entered the room to find it possibly larger than the hallways he had just been led through. Candles lit the room as one man sat with his legs crossed in the center. His face contorted with intense concentration. He wore a blue suit, and a flowing red cape. His hair neatly combed, mainly black, but with white hairs appearing in his bangs.

"A new friend Wong?" the man asked with mirth.

"He appeared to be lost. I brought him in so he could call his family."

"I see," he said standing up, "I am Doctor Strange."

"Ron. I'm-uh... Ron."

"Pleasure to meet you child."

* * *

"Ronnie? Ronnie? Look bud, I know you're mad at me. But you can't just stay in your room all day," Clint spoke through the door. He listened for any sound from the room. Ron didn't acknowledge him. No movement or scoff or sniffle. Clint leaned his head against the metal door.

"You know why we can't let you go back to school. But you've still got us. And I've talked to Tash. She agreed to start training you in self defense. How's that sound bud?"

More silence.

"Ronnie?"

Still nothing.

"Ronald? I'm coming in."

He grabbed the handle and twisted only to find it locked. Leave it to his son to not want a high tech voice- oh wait that was him. Yeah, not after the last time...

And he actually locked the door.

"Ronald Archer Barton, you open this door right now or I'm breaking it down," Clint stated with slight irritation and worry. Still no response. In a fluid motion that took about a year of practice and many more years of performing and perfecting, he kicked the door down. There was still no sound beyond the door echoing off the walls from it's violent fall to the floor. Clint glanced around the room. The bed wasn't made, but the blankets were too flat for him to be under. The closet door was open and mostly vacant from pushing most of his clothes in his dresser. The under part of his bed was filled with sliding storage units for his toys and books. And the vent screws were still in place, much too tight than if he snuck out. He wasn't in his room.

His heart began to pick up in speed. He knew Ron had gone to his room after a disagreement on if he could return to school or not. And he hadn't left according to SHIELD monitors.

"Oh shit."

Clint darted from the room, preparing to leave through the hanger. He tapped his watch to pull up a disgruntled Phil Coulson.

"Agent Barton? What is going on? I am in the middle of training-"

"Real life experience. Ron's missing."

"Are you sure? He is good at hiding-"

"He entered his room and unless someone taught him how to hack into the SHIELD mainframe and alter footage then he's missing," he growled. Phil arched a brow and told the new recruits something. He then turned his attention back to Clint.

"I'm guessing you're going to the hanger to use his tracker?"

"No shit. If Ron's teleported again, who knows where he could be. Or what trouble he could be in. Or if those men have taken him!"

* * *

"Didn't we just pass that door?" Ron asked seeing what seemed to be a duplicate door down to the soot marks on the outer edges. Strange chuckled.

"Why yes. The doors do like to move around so I'd keep close."

"How can they do that?"

"Why, the same way you found the Sanctum Sanctorum. Magic."

"There's no such thing."

"So young not to believe. Did your father tell you that?"

"No. I've seen how science looks. And it looks like magic but it isn't. I've seen people do what looks like magic. But it's just tricks. I've also seen people who have powers and they really look magical. But they just aren't."

Strange hummed in amusement. He gestured his hand and a box came flying toward him. He plucked it out of the air confidently.

"And what would you classify as magic?" Strange asked. Ron shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know."

"And how can you say it doesn't exist if you don't know what it is?"

"Because... Because..."

"Let me ask you, before you entered, did you have a strange buzzing feeling in your stomach?"

"How'd you know?"

"Because most who come here either have problems, or were born with magic."

"But how can I have magic? Wouldn't someone have noticed?"

"Ron, let me ask you something. Have something ever happened to you that science couldn't explain?"

Ron was going to say no. But then his teleporting moments, the grilled cheese, the pillow gloves, the raining raisin incident at school years ago... None of those could be explained.

"Yes," Ron admitted.

"It's that same magic that brought you here."

"Then... Then why has no one helped my dad or I?"

"Me or my dad," Strange corrected.

"Whatever!"

Strange placed a hand on Ron's shoulder.

"It is harder to grow up as an American magic user. With so many cultures mixing, there are many groups designed to help young minds. From voodoo, to enchanters, witches, and even sorcerers like myself."

Ron crinkled his nose in confusion.

"Why so many names?"

"We are the country of the melting pot. Each country views the training and learning of magic. And with America accepting everyone it was inevitable."

Ron blinked but accepted the man's words.

"So you are?"

"A sorcerer."

"And I would be? If I had magic that is?"

"Well, anything you want to be."

"What?"

"Your magic is young. And highly versatile. You still have time for your magic to be molded."

"I don't like the sound of that," Ron dead panned. He really hoped they'd get to a phone soon, and that he wasn't just taken in to be this psychotic's apprentice.

"Perhaps not. Aha! Here we are," Strange smiled as he opened a door. Ron blinked in more confusion as both he and Strange walked out of a building deep with in the buildings of New York at a small deli. Just outside of it was a pay phone. Ron recognized that he was nowhere near where he had teleported to. The buildings were vastly different, the buzzing in his body died out and there was a Starbucks across the street.

"You know your father's number I assume?" Ron nodded and turned to Strange. He nearly jumped when he saw the man had taken off his cape and looked much more like a business man. When had he taken off the cape?

"Magic Ron. Now, here are some quarters. Go give your father a call. Mustn't give him unneeded grey hairs hm?"

Ron nodded but kept his eyes on Strange. He took the quarters and slipped the first two into the pay phone. He punched in a number he knew too well but seldom used. He listened to the dull tone for two whole rings before the phone was picked up.

"You've gone too far you son of bitches. You're going to pay for taking my son," his dad growled quickly before his son could talk. Ron balked slightly at the words, never hearing his dad use such crude language in front of him.

"Daddy? It's me. Ron."

There was silence on the line.

"Oh god Ron. What happened? Who are you with?"

"I'm at A Street Deli. I'm with a Doctor Strange. And I had a bit of an... Incident."

"Oh goodness Ronnie. Stay right there. I'm on my way. And don't go off with this Doctor Strange anywhere."

"Okay daddy," Ron answered. He hung up the phone and walked out of the phone booth when his stomach growled. Strange chuckled as he led Ron inside the deli.

"Doctor Strange?"

"You're a growing boy. Go pick something off the menu."

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

Strange chuckled.

"Does a person have a reason to be nice?"

"Does a person have a reason to be mean?" Ron questioned back.

"I'm afraid not," Strange admitted.

* * *

Clint didn't know how to feel when he saw his son sitting in a booth with a dark haired man in a suit, eating a turkey sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup. Forcing himself to calm down, he entered the establishment and walked over to Ron.

"Hey Ronnie," he said in a quiet and fatherly voice. Ron turned his dad with a mouthful of soup. He quickly swallowed and gave his dad a smile.

"Hey daddy."

"How are you? Were you good for Doctor Strange?" Ron read his dad's act and played along. Though it wouldn't be too hard considering that nothing bad had happened.

"He was stellar. Very curious young lad."

"I see. Thank you for your time. I am sorry to have you watch him on such short notice."

"Not a problem. I hope to see him again in the near future. He has quite a lot of potential."

Clint narrowed his eyes.

"Excuse me?" he practically whispered. Strange looked Clint in the eye.

"Your son has a gift. One he has had for years, and has caused a bit of grief and amusement?"

"Ron-"

"He didn't have to tell me. I can feel it roll off him in waves."

"Excuse me?"

Strange smiled at Clint before mumbling some words under his breath. Ron looked around as the voices around them sounded muddled. Clint looked around also taking note of the hearing issue. He tapped his hearing aid trying to make it work.

"Don't be alarmed. It's just easier to listen when the background noise is faded. Most of the people know people are sitting here, but do not know who is here nor what we are saying and are compelled to sit elsewhere and pay us no mind."

"More magic?" Ron asked.

"Indeed," Strange induldged Ron's inquiry.

"Magic?" Clint questioned.

"Yes. A sceptic?"

"Pft. Hardly."

"You believe in magic daddy?"

"When you grow up in a circus, you learn there is a lot more to life than science."

"I hope you don't mean alcohol."

"I mean straight up voodoo. I still remember that crazy old coot jabbing me with needles and feeling it at the worst times."

"Ah. I see. Well then it looks like I don't have to convince you that your son is very capable of learning the arts and needs a mentor."

"I'll stop you right there. My son is coming back with me Strange. I _appreciate_ what you have done for my son today. But he is too young for any kind of that training."

"I assure you that he wouldn't be selling his soul to anyone," Strange answered calmly. Clint blanched.

"How-?"

"As well as your mind is guarded, a master magician or a sorcerer supreme such as myself has little trouble telling what is on your mind."

"Another reason not to trust you," he stated putting his hand on his son's shoulder. Ron stopped pretending to eat and solely focused on the men talking.

"I do not make a habit of entering other's minds. Only when lives are at stake. Though what you have told me of your youth encounter with magic only cemented what I assumed you thought. Many who use "voodoo" as their version of magic, attempt to persuade people outside family from learning the art by proclaiming a connection to demons."

"So you're saying magic is real and demons are not?"

"Hardly. You just don't need demons to be able to perform magic."

"Demons are real. Magic is real. My son is a magnet for all the strange events."

"Just like you daddy."

"Yeah... Just like me."

Strange pulled a small card out of his inner jacket pocket. He handed it to Clint. The world suddenly popped with sound as every other person's voice became clearer. Clint glanced around as Strange stood up.

"Enjoy the rest of your day boys," he finished as he walked away and left the diner.

Clint took Strange's seat, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Daddy, I'm fine. He was really nice and brought me here when I was lost. He also gave me money for the phone booth."

Clint smiled as he brushed his bangs out of his eyes.

"That's good. Let's get back to the carrier huh? No more running off."

"Kay daddy."

"Done eating?"

"Uh huh."

"Alright," Clint stood up and Ron followed. They were about out the door when they were stopped by a young employee. Apparently they had left a small white box at their table. Ron identified it as Strange's only for the worker to say they couldn't hold onto it. Clint was mildly annoyed but took the box. When they had reached the ship, safe and sound, Clint deemed it secure enough to open the box. After putting it in a bomb shelter room but who would notice?

He was a little relieved to see that inside there was no bomb, or chemicals or poison. Rather a pair of white gloves. Gloves that he used to see on magicians who worked shows in circus performances or street performances. They were soft in texture, but they weren't a familar material. They were small in size. Just a size or two smaller than Tasha's hands if he had to guess. Maybe three. Heck, they looked like they'd fit Ron.

Clint froze. He didn't believe in coincidences. From his life in the circus and now in the government, and even when he saved Ron. Though that was a little out there, he was sure Strange left the gloves for Ron.

Clint felt slightly more paranoid than normal, wondering if Strange had been watching them.

He felt an odd need to go find that odd man he met in Georgia voodoo items to keep the strange man out.

 **Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! It's late. I can't sleep. Is this chapter over yet? Is it? I think so! Let me know what you think. I feel like I'm rambling. Rambling... That's a fun word.**

 **Ram-bling! Ramble-ing!**

 **Review!**


	9. Sleep is important

Ron didn't sleep. Not with Strange's words echoing in his head. He had magic. Since he was small. And it scared him a little. He always told his daddy how much he loved him. And he knew it was true even if he wasn't his birth daddy. But the magic, did his birth father have it? His birth mother? Were they like him?

For the first time in a long time, he pondered what they were like. He was sure that one of them was magical. It might be wrong, but he just had a feeling that he wasn't the first magical person with his birth family. But did they have red hair like he did? Blue eyes too? Were they really skinny like he was? Or were they bigger than he was? Did they have freckles like he did?

Did they like mysteries like he did? Or fantasy? Did they not like corned beef? Did they like playing checkers and chess? Or did they prefer cards? Did they like to read fantasy books? Did they like animals?

Ron closed his eyes and tried to remove such thoughts. But a quick image of a red headed blur came to mind. A frantic woman. Ron opened his eyes. Was his mother a red head?

Suddenly he felt very alone. No mother. No other. He felt somewhat cold. Very different from when he had entered the Sanctum Sanctorum.

He slipped out of his bed and made his way to his daddy who was lightly snoring half covered in his blankets. Ron crawled into the bed and wrapped his arms around his daddy, hearing the soothing heartbeat he had grown accustomed to listening to when he was scared or lonely. His daddy's warm arm wrapped around his back, not drawing him closer, but encircling him in warmth.

That was all he needed. He closed his eyes and fell asleep, knowing that whoever he could have been, didn't really matter so long as his daddy was around.

Even waking up to his daddy not being in bed was comforting. The room held small personal items that made Ron feel at home. Even the note hastily written on the fridge saying sorry for not being able to have breakfast with him because he got tricked by Uncle Phil into training a few new recruits. So long as he could return with his daddy, somehow he knew everything would be alright.

With a knock on the door he pulled himself out of bed and eagerly greeted his Aunt-Uncle Fitzsimmons and prepared some toast for breakfast as they raided Clint's coffee and tea.

And there was the arguement of the morning. Coffee or tea. Which tasted better. His daddy was more of a coffee man, but Ron enjoyed drinking hot tea or hot chocolate. Earl Grey was currently his favorite much to his daddy's surprise.

"Jeez, looks like Hawky forgot to give Ron a souvenir," Fitz joked finding a small white box. Simmons rolled her eyes.

"Considering the heart attack Ron gave him I'm not surprised."

"Hey Ron! Come over here for a second."

Ron jumped off his seat and walked over to Fitzsimmons.

"Look what your dad got for you," Fitz said handing Ron the box. Ron furrowed his brow.

"My daddy didn't get that for me."

"Sure he did! Who else would hide a box in your guy's room?"

"Daddy was given it cause Doctor Strange forgot it during lunch," Ron stated intelligently.

"Clint doesn't have meals with strangers."

"What about Budape-"

"Outside of painfully obscure missions."

"..."

"..."

"Well it can't be that bad if he brought it into the room."

Ron opened the box, knowing his daddy would never bring something too dangerous into the room. Inside were two, somewhat shoved in carelessly, white gloves. Ron pulled them out and gave them a once over, like he had seen his daddy, Aunt Tasha and Uncle Phil do.

Seeing nothing wrong with them, he slipped them on. They were a little big on his hands but still comfortable. The fingers were longer than his, comically longer with his pinkies. His thumb almost fit but was still too short for the pair.

"Bit too big."

"We could through them in a washing machine. Make them shrink."

"No. I like them. 'Sides, Auntie Tasha says things that are too big are just what I need when I get older."

"You sure?"

"Uh huh. And they're really soft. So I wanna use them for a long time."

"Okay. Whatever you want little red."

The day went on fairly normal despite Ron's wearing of the gloves, all up until the night hit. He said good night to Aunt-Uncle Fitzsimmons and slipped into his dad's bed for the night. He rolled himself into a blanket burrito and fell into a deep slumber.

Unlike normals nights where dreams didn't come or play memories or wishes of things to do with his family, he was instead inside of a rainbow. He was standing on a floor that didn't seem to exist.

Ron looked around for anything that made sense. He felt the same buzz he felt at Strange's house. But more subdued. It felt... Older. Aged.

He reached out to touch the rainbow when it seemed to shimmer. The buzz exploded from his fingertips to his feet. His chest burned with energy, his breath became slightly labored. He jerked his hand back, the buzzing quieted down to a lull. He breathed a little easier. His eyes wandered but all he could see was the shimmering colors. He began to walk around. Constantly moving yet not going anywhere. It seemed to last forever, but also just a moment. He didn't know what kind of dream it was but he didn't dislike it.

After some time, a ripple appeared throughout the rainbow. A figure traveled quickly through the colors, a sharp contrast to the otherwise soft and welcoming hues. A man. A little taller than his daddy perhaps. Short black hair combed back wearing dark green. His face was clearly aristocratic despite the distress, anger and pain etched in his eyes and mouth.

He stopped for a moment and looked over to Ron. Green eyes stared at Ron's blues for a moment. His eyes looked up and down, and then left to right. Ron blinked. He couldn't see him. The dark haired man couldn't see him. But it didn't stop Ron from feeling a bizarre combination of sorry and slightly fearful.

He turned his head and continued down the rainbow back towards where Ron came from, until he disappeared from sight. Another ripple made the rainbow quiver. And he was alone. He sighed and sat down. A slight jolt went up his back as his night shirt brushed against the edge of the rainbow. Another ripple, coming from the opposite direction passed through the rainbow and the dark haired man returned, both somber and smug. When he disappeared, another ripple ran through the rainbow, this time, with him falling out.

His heart sped up and his eyes snapped open. His arms were tangled and his feet were stuck as he began to flail. He stopped when he rolled off his dad's bed and onto the floor.

"Ow."

 **Well this could have been better. But I kind of like this. Rather than jumping into Avengers in this chapter like I planned, I began and this is what appeared. So please leave a review.**


	10. Doctor's know best

Ron yawned as he walked down the ship's corridors. Rainbow colors were still swirling in his mind. The man in black and green. The haunted poison green eyes.

He blamed the bomb dropped on him from Strange stating that his gift was actual magic.

With his dad gone and the day young, he took advantage of the empty halls in the ship and just wandered. As much as he liked hanging around in the vents, he also enjoyed stretching his legs and giving people a different kind of shock seeing a young boy in such a high tech military facility. Their faces really did brighten his day.

Besides, he had to take the halls today. After the last time his dad had tried to take the vents to the infirmary, they had been upgraded to prevent enemies from entering the room.

Killjoys.

Once he reached the infirmary, he entered it with an irritated look matching his dad's disgruntled features after being manhandled in for a check up after a particularly challenging mission.

"Nice pout Ron."

Ron's face flushed with embarrassment.

"Hello Uncle Phil."

"Hello Ron. Glad to see you showed up for your checkup."

"I'd rather not be dragged here by Auntie Tasha with a sore bum."

Phil smirked as he ushered in the doctor of the day. Funny how they never seemed to have the same doctor give him a check up. Though considering how they never passed the Clint test, it wasn't all that surprising. In fact, that was why they were giving him an appointment while Clint was out doing his job. This time, it was a young man, Caucasian. Blond hair, green eyes. Really short hair.

"Hello Ronald. I'm Doctor Jones. I'm going to be giving you your check up today. Are you ready?"

"How professional," Ron joked with Phil.

"Mind your manners Ron."

"Yes Uncle Phil," Ron said bowing his head. He heard Jones chuckling.

"No need for that. Why don't we start with your blood pressure?"

"Sure."

Jones smiled at Ron's nonchalance. Ron noted a small gap between his front teeth. Reaching into his bag and pulled out a sphygmomanometer. Ron stiffened knowing how the tool felt. Jones lightly touched his arm.

"Don't worry. It won't take long."

"I know," Ron defended, "I just wish I didn't need to do it. I'm fine."

"You sound like your dad," Phil muttered with good humor. Ron stuck out his tongue in retaliation.

"Please roll up your sleeve Ron."

Ron complied, his hand rolling his long sleeves up. He felt the familar wrap and the soft clinging sound of Velcro when he closed his eyes. He kept his breathing even like his Aunt Tasha told him to do when he felt uncomfortable. He felt the material tighten around his pale arm making him feel pins and needles. His arm felt the cool touch of a stethoscope on his arm.

"Have you had breakfast this morning Ron?"

"Uh. I did."

"What did you have for breakfast this morning?"

Ron opened his eyes as the pressure lessened on his arm.

"Honey nut Cheerios."

"And how much did you have?"

"A whole bowl. Like I always do," Ron answered somewhat cautiously. Doctor Jones glanced over at Coulson.

"Agent Coulson, if you wouldn't mind, I would like to take another blood pressure check before, and right after his lunch."

Ron scrunched up his nose in displeasure. Coulson nodded.

"Now Ronald, do you get headaches? Or double vision?"

"Sometimes I get headaches. But they aren't to bad. I can sleep them off and eat something and I feel better."

Doctor Jones hummed with interest.

"Have you been feeling anything odd? Maybe a little moody and you don't know why?"

"Are you telling me I'm turning into a teenager?" Ron half joked. Coulson raised his brow at the doctor, "Cause I'm not even twelve yet."

"Well it's possible your hormones are starting early. But rather unlikely. I'd need a blood draw to be certain."

"Dontor Jones?"

"What's wrong with me?" Ron questioned.

"Hopefully nothing," Coulson stated glaring at the doctor.

"Just low blood pressure Ronald. Nothing too strange with a growing young lad such as yourself. But it is a bit lower than what is considered normal. Even through a growth spurt. Did you eat dinner last night?"

"Yes."

Ron was asked a few more questions about his diet. Coulson remained tense as each question was asked. Ron had a feeling he wasn't going to see this doctor again with Coulson mirroring his father's pure look of displeasure.

* * *

"Why didn't you tell me you scheduled an appointment for Ron? I'm his dad!"

"You are terrible at scheduling appointments. You don't like the doctors and in turn don't make Ron go to them. It was better to do it while you were gone," Natasha stated. Clint gave her a mild glare.

"I would have taken him. Eventually."

"When? When he fainted?"

"Excuse me? Natasha what are you talking about? What's wrong with Ron? Is he hurt? Is he sick?"

"Funny how desperate you are with your son."

"No games Tasha. What's wrong with Ron?"

"He's hypoglycemic. Naturally lower blood pressure."

"So, low blood sugar. That's not so bad."

"Not if we keep him to his diet."

"Diet? Oh great. What can't I get him in the store anymore?"

"Start buying an extra box of cereal while your out."

"Start buying an extra- Excuse me?"

"He needs to eat more carbs. And with puberty in a few years... You're lucky you work for SHIELD."

"Damn."

* * *

"Dad? Why is my bowl bigger?"

"Because you're a growing boy."

"Daddy?"

"Ronnie."

"Dad... Is it because I'm sick?"

"No. You're not sick Ron. You're just different. Your body just a little more food than most."

"Oh. Okay. Thanks for clearing it up. Uncle Phil was a little confusing earlier."

"No problem bud. Phil is usually confusing."

"So that's why you put more potatoes on my plate."

 **Ron eats a lot. So when I was reading stuff online, I came across Hypoglycemia. Which is similar to my sister's salt deficiency. She has to keep her sodium levels higher because her body doesn't hold it in as well as the rest of our family. This also is what keeps her from eating items with potassium but anyway... I thought there might be an actual medical reason as to why he eats so much. Hypoglycemia is (from my research and a well informed reader...) low blood sugar.**

 **This can happen when you have diabetes but not always. So... Yeah... Awesome stuff (not really).**

 **Anyway, now that that's out of the way... Please review.**


	11. Where's Hawkeye?

It had been one year since the rainbow dream. He didn't have one like it since. But it remained as clear in his mind as the night it appeared in his dream. His diet greatly altered to adjust to his greater need of carbs making him feel perkier than before.

He had been walking through the ship as usual, dodging agents he wasn't familiar with feeling just a little suspicious. He blamed his dad a little for that, the slight paranoia about everyone. His dad had left for his longest mission since Ron had been aboard the ship, over a month had gone by and he still had no answer to when he'd return. He couldn't even ask his Aunt Tasha since she had been gone for two months on her own assignment. His Aunt-Uncle Fitzsimmons weren't told anything regarding their missions. And his Uncle Phil and Uncle Nick were tightlipped about everything.

He had been passing his Uncle Nick's office when he heard his Uncle Phil.

"You're at 114 Solenski Plaza, third floor. We have an F-22 exactly eight miles out. Put the woman on the phone or I will blow up the block before you can make it to the lobby."

Woman? Ron stopped curiously and placed his ear to the door. They didn't seem too concerned with this getting out, but a closed door meant they didn't want particular attention drawn to it. At least, that's how his dad explained it. If he could hear his Uncle's so easily then it was their fault, not his.

"We need you to come in."

Ron waited patiently but could not hear the other speaker, must've been the phone woman he had mentioned.

"This takes precedence."

There was an extended pause slightly annoying Ron. Never one to be patient when he had to be, he was debating going to Aunt-Uncle Fitzsimmon's office when he heard his Uncle Phil speak once more.

"Natasha, Barton's been compromised."

Ron went cold. His Aunt was on the phone, being called off a mission because his dad was in trouble. He wasn't stupid. He knew compromised meant he was found on the job. He also knew that his dad could be killed by whoever caught him. He had heard of people being killed from sneaking around. His dad couldn't be- he just couldn't be. He didn't know how long he stood their when Phil spoke again.

"We don't know." A brief pause, "We think so. I'll brief you on everything when you get back. But first, we need you to talk to the big guy."

Another pause, a little longer than the previous. Ron felt himself start to go clammy and a little nauseous. His breathing a little shallower and his eyes burning with tears.

"Oh, I've got Stark. You get the big guy."

Ron collapsed to the floor. He didn't know what was going on. His body shook with little tremors as tears leaked down his face trying to figure out what it all meant. If his dad was okay. His heart ached and his head was pounding. Not one word was said. When he cried it was bizarrely quiet. Just soft gasps and sniffles. Such in contrast to his anger, which would sit and stew and then explode later with minor poking and prodding. He sat there for a few minutes when Nick Fury opened the door. His face remained stony, but his eyes sparked with melancholy.

In keeping the silence he kneeled down and pulled the lanky boy into his arms. He let Ron cry into his shoulder for a little while, well aware of Phil watching and needing to leave. Probably feeling levels of Onism that he couldn't stay to help with Ron who had clearly overheard the conversation.

But his responsibility made him leave, passing with a soft squeeze on Ron's shoulder before walking away his own face grim.

"We were going to tell you."

"When?" Ron whispered into his shoulder, his tears having stopped leaving his eyes red and nose runny.

"Today. We were going to take you to Knox for the week."

"What's going on Uncle Nick?"

"Nothing you should be concerned about."

"No. That's a lie. You don't even know where my dad is. I want to know what's going on," he grumbled, his sadness turning quickly into rage.

"Ron. For you and your father's sake, just trust me."

"Why? He's my dad. He could be- He could be безжизненный."

"Now now. Don't you be thinking that. Your father is a strong man. He'll pull through."

"Then why are you calling Auntie Tasha? And this Stark man?" Ron questioned.

"Because even the strongest people need help sometimes. Now let's get you to Skye to get you to Fort Knox."

* * *

Clint stared blankly in front of him as Loki prepared... Something. He wasn't quite sure. It wasn't his job to know though. Just to do what he was told. Still, a small spark of red nagged in the back of his mind that he shouldn't listen. Well, two little sparks of red. But for the life of him he couldn't see them clearly. At least he figured one of them from Loki. Natasha. Apparently Loki wanted some information on her and left that image a little clearer. That didn't sit well with him but he said nothing.

He just wanted to know who the other spark of red was.

* * *

"Ready Ron?"

"I guess so."

"Well let's get going then."

Ron sat in the seat behind Skye as they took off for what they were told would be a week. Ron didn't like it. He wanted stay close. Where his dad could find him. He closed his eyes and kept thinking about his dad.

Wherever he was, it was dangerous. His dad could handle everything Ron couldn't. And now his dad couldn't handle something, he was scared.

But he didn't want his dad to come home and he wasn't there.

He barely noticed the plane taking off while he thought. Not until they were soaring out of the city.

That was when he recalled Doctor Strange. The man was nice, and he had a safe place near where his dad could find him. He could stay there. Couldn't he?

Even if he could, it wasn't like he could get there. Unless...

He closed his eyes. If he got there once with his magic, then why not again now? He was in the sky each time he did it. Even if it was only twice.

He tried to imagine the place. The front door, the illusion down, his dad coming to get him. Eventually he did feel the pinch in his stomach as his body was squished and popped back out, but he gasped in pain. The ends of his fingers were painful and wet. He looked down to see his fingernails were gone. He cried out in pain, tears poring out, not knowing what to do.

"Goodness child. Come inside. That looks rather painful."

Ron turned his head, and through his tears he saw Doctor Strange's housemate, Mr. Wong.

 **(Dialogue earlier that Ron overhears is direct from the movie but only Phil Coulson's lines)**

 **Whump! Shiitake mushrooms. Okay so I was reading one of my all time favorite Harry Potter stories on fanfiction, Stay Standing by Windchild 8178 and became inspired to write a more whump filled chapter.**

 **So take a look at Stay Standing sometime if you're a fan of post Harry Potter-pre epilogue territory with Ron angst, Weasley bonding, overprotective George, Golden Trio friendship and of course. Ron Weasley.**

 **But back to here and now. Please leave a review, I guess. Dunno, kind of jazzed for Stay Standing.**


	12. Alice in Strange's house

Ron whimpered as he made his way down the hall with Wong by his side guiding him into the unknown passages of the house.

"Don't be afraid. You will be safe here."

"Safe from what? Street thugs? Gangs?"

"I fear far worse," he stated ominously. Ron didn't know what to say, even as anger built up in him. Why wasn't anyone telling him anything? He may be young but he wasn't stupid.

"What worse? Terrorists?"

"War."

Ron fell silent unsure what to say. He usually had to weed it out of adults and by then he had some idea of what was going on. He held his hands gingerly together to avoid his aching fingers from hitting one of the moving objects in the house.

"Do you still have those gloves?"

"Gloves?" Ron asked. He thought for a moment before remembering the pair of white gloves that were given to him the and left in his room by his dad the last time he ran into Strange. Reaching into his pocket and cringing as he felt fabric rub against his bare skin where his finger nails were, he pulled out a small box.

Wong gingerly took the box from Ron's hand and opened it. He carefully removed the white fabric and held it towards Ron. His face set in a warm smile.

"Do you know that these gloves are very special?"

"Special how?"

"These gloves are made from a special thread. Silk from an Agromantula."

"Agromunla- Argomo- Agromunt-"

"Agromantula. It's a special magical spider that creates incredibly strong silk. Silk that can numb your aching fingers."

"No. That's a place-Bo effect isn't it? You say that so I think it won't hurt."

"It is not a placebo effect I assure you. Give them a try."

Ron gave him a look and then gave his hands a look. The ends were red and irritated. A real eyesore to look at. He sighed and took the gloves, if only to hide the hideous lack of nails. Sliding the gloves on, his fingers felt tingly. Almost pleasantly as the glove slid on rather snugly, matching as perfectly as a glove could fit.

He looked at Wong with shock showing perfectly on his face. Wong didn't say anything and continued leading Ron throughout the house.

Wong had led Ron to one of the many doors and opened it. Ron's eyes bugged as he saw a large community of people gathered. Mothers were holding children close and fathers were giving kisses to them before leaving toward a growing crowd of individuals. Ron grabbed Wong's sleeve nervously.

"It will be all right Ron. Strange has brought them all here to keep them safe, just as we have let you in."

"Who are they?"

"Magical American Government Intelligence Coven."

"What?"

"One of the Magic sanctioned government here in America. Staying until it's safe to go back home."

"So, they're like me?"

"Mainly wizards and witches. Though a few shamans and mages are present as well."

"Shamans? Mages?"

"Yes."

Ron clung tighter onto Wong's sleeve. Throw him in a room with SHIELD agents and stony faces and he would thrive. But after years of not interacting with other kids and missing mother child interactions when he was younger made him feel uncomfortable.

"Mr. Wong!" A woman's voice cried out. Wong turned his head slightly to the left as a woman came running up to him with a boy, larger than he was, with dark brown hair and matching eyes. He had a warm yet homely appearance. Looked similar to the woman despite her dirty blond hair.

"Ma'am, if you could wait a moment."

"I tried. American government won't allow a port key. We need to get home." Her voice wasn't American, any version of the accents he had heard over time. It was British.

"Ma'am. Take a deep breath."

The woman took a shuttering breath.

"I am sure your family is fine. But you and your son are safer here."

"Alright," she stated. The boy grabbed his mother's hand in a comforting gesture. His eyes looked up to her as she smiled at her son, somewhat forced but also relieved.

"Ma'am, I know it's hard for you. But it's hard for everyone. Great and small," Wong comforted. It was then the woman's eyes met Ron's, her jaw grew slightly slack. It clicked shut quickly enough. Her eyes looked him over, carefully logging and seemingly questioning every detail.

"I'm sorry sweetheart. I'm Alice, and this is my son Neville."

"Uh, hi. I'm... Archer."

Ron didn't know why he used his middle name. But hearing the accent... After what his dad had told him about being found in Britian... He didn't want to be taken away from his dad.

He knew he had been Ron as a baby, according to his baby self. So the safest way to hide was to give a made up name. Even if there was nothing to hide from. And though Wong knew his name, he didn't give him up, just merely raised a brow curiously before dropping it and entering his stoic face mode.

"Well... Archer, where is your mum?"

"I don't have one," he stated.

"Then where's your dad?" Neville asked, not at all put off that Ron didn't have mom.

"I-I don't know," he sniffled, tears started to pour out of his eyes and roll down his cheeks. It finally hit him how bad it was. His dad was missing. And he... He would be an orphan. The woman kneeled down her face melting from curious scrutiny to soft and inviting.

"Oh sweetie. Everything is going to be fine. You can stay with me and Neville until we find your dad alright?"

Alice wiped the tears from his cheeks as he continued crying.

"Don't be sad. We'll find your dad. Mum always follows her word. And you won't be alone anymore."

Ron sniffled, his tears slowing and gave Neville a watery smile.

* * *

"I don't like this anymore than you do. But he's safer there than here."

"He should have his family with him."

"You don't send a child overseas with their parents to fight in a war Romanoff. And Barton is still missing. Knox is much safer right now."

"You better be right Fury."

* * *

"So what do we do now?" Ron asked as they sat near now of the corners of the room.

"We could play exploding snap," Neville offered.

"Exploding what?"

"It's a card game sweetie."

"Like go fish? Or poker?"

"Hasn't your dad ever played exploding snap?"

"My dad... My dad's non magic."

"So your dad's a muggle?"

"Muggle? Is that some kind of insult?"

"No, not at all Archer. Muggle is our word for a non magical human."

"Oh."

"Everything all right over here? Everyone accounted for?" a new voice asked. Ron looked up to see a familiar man. He saw him when he was in the park when he was with his Uncle Fury years ago. And he was there when he teacher turned forgetful.

"My son and I are fine. But Archer here is missing his father."

The man looked at Ron curiously.

"Hey there little man. I haven't seen you running around in a while."

"You know each other?"

"Not personally. But he caused quite a stir with the Improper use of Magic Division. You were never easy to clean up after either."

"You attacked me and Uncle Nicky," he stated. Yeah man chuckled and looked downward.

"Just doing my job. Was supposed to make him forget about your little spout of magic. I didn't realize he was your uncle. Besides, your Uncle knocked me out and got away anyway."

"You're not mad?"

"Nah, better he was fearful for you than afraid of you. Shows you're in good hands."

 **What...**

 **What the hell did I just write?**

 **Been away for awhile and coming back for a birthday present for a special reader and well...**

 **This! This is a thing! It exists!**

 **And I clearly need more sleep...**


	13. As the chaos ensues

Dazed blue eyes blankly stared forward at his master. Clint Barton was ready for any command that his lord should give. His body relaxed and ready for the upcoming attack. He felt he could die for his lord.

An odd sting pierced his chest at the thought. Why would he have such a reaction? To die serving his master would be a noble death for one with such a short life as he did. But why did he feel uncomfortable with the very thought? A flash of red appeared in his mind. Someone different than the feared seductress he informed his lord of early in his servitude. Someone younger. Someone, dare he think it, innocent?

"Come. We have work to do," Lord Loki commanded. Clint followed without hesitation. It would do well not to disobey his master over silly notions and stray emotions. After all, how could he lead the mortal soldiers if he wasn't following his master without hesitation?

-.-

"So, this old maid thing-?"

"It's simple. We split the cards between us. Match all the pairs we have, and then take turns taking one card from the person to the right of us. If it's a match with a card you have, you put them in the pile. If not, you let the person to your left take a card. Well, you do that either way, but if you get a match you play it. The goal is to not be the person holding the last card in the end of the game."

"That's very…"

"That's very interesting Archer," Alice finished for her son. She smiled at her boy trying to be polite given the odd circumstances. It wasn't like the rare times she spent with Molly and Arthur's children. Always loud and full of energy. So unlike this young boy who just wanted his dad and yet so ready to be distracted. Poor little guy.

"Well, it's a game me and my- A game I play."

Alice felt her face fall hearing Archer stop himself. He was far too young to be thinking like that.

"Hey, cheer up. I'm sure your dad's going to be fine. Now why don't we give this game a shot okay? It sounds like a lot of fun," the young man from MAGIC encouraged.

Archer's eyes sparked brightly, rivaling an old headmaster she knew. But rather than a knowing twinkle in a light blue sky, it was a curious spark that seemed to hold a burning need for companionship drifting out on a ship at sea.

Archer smiled as he dealt the cards with great precision, the hands dealt were as equal as he could make them before they began. Despite the lack of magic and usual parlor that Alice and Neville were used to in games, both found that they were enjoying the card game trying to be sneaky and giving each other the old maid.

Round after round was played between the four of them, losing track of time, as the games grew more and more silly between the boys. Each time Neville lost, Archer would playfully mock him while when Archer lost, he would grumble about "when he was a lad" with a remarkably sounding older person's voice. She dared to think it almost reminded her of Dumbledore. The member of MAGIC smiled at the boys with great amusement.

It was like this for an hour or so before he was called away to stand in the line of duty. Alice wished him the best of luck knowing that if she cast any spell on him, it may act as an interference for any spell they needed to cast out in the field. Shame really. She yearned to be out in the field again. Alas, she still had her son to think about. And when two were compared, fieldwork as an Auror was nothing compared to being there for her son.

-.-

Hours had passed and still not one word indicating Ron's arrival at Knox. While Natasha would have been worried, she had other things on her mind. Like how many people Barton had killed.

Looking down at the unconscious archer, she resisted the urge to groan at the aches and pain she was experiencing. Not all were physical.

Hell, if not for the information she had received from Coulson earlier, she may have actually killed him. But that wasn't important. Right now, securing him was. If there were any chance that he would attack them again, he would need to be secured. Not only for SHEILD's sake, but also for his son's.

She grabbed his arms and tossed him over her shoulder. God, why couldn't he be a tiny guy? No, he just had to be a heavy archer. She wasn't weak or anything, but she had better things to do than carrying his fat ass to a cell like infirmary. Correction. Just to a cell. She didn't hit him _that_ hard. And if she did, well… there was a doctor on standby. Serves him right for trying to bite her.

She'd have to hit extra hard next time they sparred. Preferably in his "no-no spot".

-.-

Chaos and tension were running rampart within the walls of the Burrow as Arthur and Molly held their children from Percy to Ginny close, worried for their brothers who weren't there in a maddening time. Of course they had heard of the attack on muggles. A young wizard attacking people in Germany and hauled off to who knows where. It had only been ten years since the war. And witches and wizards were frantic trying to protect themselves from this menace that had taken the name Loki. Odd, yet fitting. He yearned for power like a mad god. And Loki was know not for his kindness, but his magic and tricks.

So far there was little for them to worry about. There had been no news since the recent attack on Germany. However, that was mere days ago. Not all that long really. The only comforts they had were the letters from Bill and Charlie letting her know that they were okay, and that Xenophilius Lovegood had been over with Luna, giving Ginny someone to talk to without worrying her in this ordeal. The last thing they needed was panic.

"Think Ron's okay?" Ginny asked. Molly cringed. After all this time, they never lost hope that they would find him. But with the chaos, there was a touch of fear that they may not find him _alive_.

Her eyes darted to the clock. Still as dusty as ever and the hand firmly stuck on traveling. He was safe. Somewhere.

"I'm sure of it Ginny. Look at the clock. His hand is on traveling. That means he's fine. Just a little lost."

"Then why doesn't it say lost?" Luna asked startling her Molly and Arthur. No one outside the family had ever asked about the clock in reference to Ron before. Not unless it involved the twins and their "downtime" staring at it. They had discussed this with different adults who had to watch the boys on different occasions, but that was different. They were older and had known about Ron's disappearance. They remembered the frantic search when they first lost him. They took in the rushed explanation when asked to watch the clock in case it changed when Fred and George were little so they wouldn't run off unknowingly teaching Fred and George.

"Well… that's because-"

"Because he knows where he is Luna. He just doesn't know where we are," Fred stated in a surprisingly mellow tone considering the tension in his body. George grabbed his hand and a quick squeeze. Neither of them had liked to talk about the clock since they started to go to Hogwarts. It made the idea of Ron coming home seem less likely. And yet, they both could recall something that his mum and dad had told both the twins when they were little. Something they had heard and repeated so often they wouldn't forget.

"Oh. Alright," Luna replied in a whimsical tone. Molly nodded to Fred for the explanation. Fred averted his eyes over to the clock along with George's.

"It's getting pretty late," Percy muttered.

"You're right. Luna and I will have to be going in a moment. I need to get the Quibbler ready to print."

"Oh no Xeno, you and Luna should stay for the night I insist!" Molly proclaimed. She stood up and rushed to the closet, grabbing blankets and pillows her boys had stashed for forts when they were younger, "I'll go get dinner ready. And I expect to see you at the table with us when I'm done."

She left for the kitchen and began preparing wait would undoubtedly be a large meal. Arthur looked over at the Lovegoods.

"I'd stay. Molly is sure to make sure you make sure you stay and eat even if you walk out the door. Besides, I'm sure Luna would like to spend the night."

"Ah, yes. But I must finish the latest edition to the Quibbler. That Loki fellow had numerous whackspurts straight from Asgard around him. And I must alert my readers."

Arthur smiled at the eccentric man. He couldn't say a lot about his hobbies when his were looked down upon in the wizarding world. It was as if the very mention of anything muggle would blemish society.

-.-

Clint groaned, grabbing his head that seemed to be stuck in a pounding headache. He sucked in air through his teeth in a hiss as he tried to recall what had happened. He opened his eyes slowly only for them to fly open, recognizing that he was in one of SHIELD's holding cells.

He sat up, trying to ignore the vertigo that struck him as he was confused. Why was he in a cell? What was going on? Where was _Ron_?

He nearly jumped when the door opened. He almost instantly relaxed when he saw it was Natasha walking in. Her eyes hardened, almost as if she was trying to dissect him. He gave her a weak, yet cocky smile.

"Hello Nat. Trapped anyone in your web yet?" he joked. Her eyes softened ever so slightly.

"You."

"Look, if this is about your Girl Scout cookies- I swear I didn't eat them! It was all Coulson's idea!"

"You're an idiot," she smirked briefly before she went back to frowning, "How are you feeling?"

"Like someone took a bat to my head. God this headache is bad."

"Try piping."

"Piping? Who's the bastard who hit me?"

"I was."

Clint was silent for a moment. His face-hardened and he looked Natasha dead in the eyes.

"Tell me what happened."

"You weren't you."

"And I'm guessing I still might not be?"

"Hence the cell. What do you remember?"

A huff of annoyance came from Clint as he closed his eyes.

"I remember… I was out. I was on a mission and someone… in green came to me. We were fighting and then… his staff touched my chest. Then-" Clint gasped as glimpses of memories hit him. An army, dead bodies, dead agents, "I started attacking," he finished with a whisper.

 **So… Hi everyone. I am sorry to say I am terrible with the Avenger's movie so don't expect a ton of scenes directly from the movie. I was more surprised I could do this.**

 **So I've shown Ron, The Weasleys, Before and after control Clint, Natasha, and surprisingly the Lovegoods. As it is, I am kind of thrilled I wrote this. On the other hand I am shocked.**

 **As many of you know, this is essentially a fanfiction based on the idea that created The Muggle Raised. So out of curiosity, I am wondering if you, the readers, enjoy The Muggle Raised or Son of the Archer more.**

 **Let me know what you thought of the chapter and of the two stories in the reviews. See you all later!**


	14. It happens too fast

Everything seemed to happen so fast. As soon as he was cleared from the medical staff, he was back to fighting with SHIELD. And the only person he really knew was Natasha. So far he had recalled Tony the Snark, Freezer pop Captain America, Drape model Thoreal, and the micro raging Hulk Bruce. Humanity was doomed.

No, not doomed. Not while there were people still fighting. Not while he needed to protect his son. He'd be damned if he died before knowing his son would be safe.

He knew the others didn't trust him after his attack on the Helicarrier. He knew that he was most likely to be accused if something went wrong. It didn't matter. He was on a mission. Save the world. Don't let anything leave New York. Protect his son. Die doing it if necessary.

"You okay soldier?" a voice cut in breaking his train of thought. Clint turned his head slightly to see the spangled hero himself, Captain America. Clint grunted.

"Sure. I am always great after being a meat puppet."

"Sarcasm is for the weak," the blue clad Captain commented. Clint rolled his eyes hiding the slightest twitch of lips turning upward.

"Sarcasm is for the witty to use against those who haven't trained their minds Oh Captain my Captain," Clint joked grabbing his favored bow and set of arrows. He'd need his very best to tangle with these bastards. He even grabbed an old green and gold arrow from his days at the circus. Almost as if made to match Loki's clothes. The perfect arrow to shoot up his royal Asgardian ass.

"Just be ready," Captain America interrupted with an unmistakable leading and annoyed tone. Just like Nick Fury after Ron first snuck onto the archery range when Clint was out on a mission and nearly got shot by some newbie agent.

"We don't know what all we'll be facing." Captain America marched toward the door, his shoes clicking on the floor.

"Please. I was born ready Captain."

The blond rolled his eyes in annoyance leaving the room. Clint grinned. Some things never changed. Old men still tried to take control of the situation.

-.-

Alice smiled softly at the two sleeping boys. Ron and Neville had tuckered themselves out from their playing and the worrying. Alice transfigured a box of tissues into blankets and pillows for the boys to sleep on. So far they had rolled each other into large blanket burritos and slept side by side, taking comfort in another's presence.

She glanced over at other parents who were transfiguring blankets, pillows and even beds from those who had plenty of energy. Casually, she slipped out a small mirror, making sure to keep it hidden from the others. She knew it was illegal here in the states for a few reasons, but it was the one sure-fire way for her to communicate with anyone in England right now.

"Molly?"

The mirror changed from her own reflection to that of a plump red haired witch matriarch.

"Alice? Alice how are you? Are you all alright? I heard you were off traveling with Neville. And then this Loki fellow appears and starts attacking-!"

"I'm fine Molly. I'm in America with a lovely group of witches and wizards. Neville is sleeping with a new friend he made here in a blanket fort and we're fine."

"Oh thank goodness. Things have been so dreadfully tense here. Arthur was just called in by the ministry. Apparently there is quite the stir with this Loki running amuck."

Alice didn't bother hiding her worry. She had heard Loki first appeared in Europe. And with the members of MAGIC gathering and leaving, there was little doubt the mad man was in New York.

"I'm just glad to hear that you and your family is safe," Alice smiled.

"Likewise Alice. How is America?"

"Very busy. I have never seen so much commotion among people like it is here. It's rather different."

"Oh no doubt. But they never did have much sense ignoring old wizarding traditions."

Alice chuckled softly at her friend's eccentricities. Oh how she wanted to be back in England where she knew who she could rely on. Back where she had family.

Her eyes flitted over to Neville and Archer sleeping on the floor and blankets.

"Alice? Is everything alright?" Molly asked with a touch of worry. Alice blinked and stared back at her friend.

"Everything is fi-" Alice stopped and sighed, "No. Molly. Everything is not fine. That man in Germany is now here in the States," Alice whispered with a hint of desperation. Molly's eyes widened.

"Are you sure? Alice, he was in Germany not even a week ago. How would he be in America? What is happening Alice? Are you and Neville unharmed?"

"Calm down Molly. You don't want to scare the kids do you?" Alice commented more than asked. Molly took a few deep breaths before Alice continued, "Neville and I are unharmed. We were brought to a safe place to hold out until this man is brought to justice."

It didn't seem to calm her down. She still seemed rather flustered and nervous. Alice couldn't imagine what was going on in her head right now. Actually, she could. Relief that Arthur wouldn't be running into this madman, but fear that her friend from school was so close to that same man. Yeah, that sounded about right.

"Alice, explain," Molly stated bridling her anger and fear in a no nonsense motherly tone she had often used back when they were in Hogwarts on the younger students. God she was a terrifying seventh year. Alice found herself telling Molly about her and Neville's time in the states being hijacked into hiding, even mentioning young Archer and his missing father drawing sympathy from Molly.

"Molly, are you okay?" Alice asked after she explained the situation. Molly's eyes were hardened from all she had heard.

"You shouldn't be asking if I'm alright. You're the one near that Loki fellow."

"Molly. I am fine. We _will_ be fine."

-.-

Time seemed to stand still as everyone waited with ambivalence and fear with war just over the horizon. Just held the calm before the storm before the sky exploded, ripping the very fabric of the space and reality the world had known.

People were running, screaming, fighting, and dying. Beasts poured from the sky, flooding the earth with teeth and claws polluting the sky and air of New York. The creatures were much larger than the city's narrow streets they attempted to move, they destroyed buildings and shattered glass creating sharp shards of glistening rain like fragments stabbing and cutting the individuals that were unable to escape the onslaught.

Chaos ensnared the city. Guns were fired at the large beasts from cops and the civilians who had them. Not one beast seemed to fall as more appeared from the portal. All seemed to be hopeless.

However, everything changed with a crackle of thunder, fire from planes, a volley of arrows and blasts of energy seemed to appear within the city attacking the beasts. People were baffled, searching for answers, from the military, the police, anyone. It was then that a man from American legend appeared before them, living. Breathing and as strong as he had been in his legends.

He spoke clearly. Told the police to hold a perimeter. That no beast was to leave the area. That they were to make a stand here and now.

The police relayed the order from the living legend.

-.-

Ron squirmed in an unfamiliar pocket of warmth. It didn't feel like his bed. But it was too soft to be on the metal floor of the carrier, and too firm to be any of the couches he had slept on in the Helicarrier. He opened his eyes slowly, adjusting to the light without blinding himself. When his eyes were fully opened, he came face to sleeping face with another kid. He nearly jumped when he remembered what happened. He had been on his way to Ft Knox, teleported to Strange's house where Wong greeted him and brought him to the safe room with other magical people.

He turned his head to look around, only to discover that he gotten himself tangled within gold and red colored blankets. A lion clearly stitched into the fabric. He didn't know why, but it felt incredibly safe. Spending his life surrounded by black and silver with occasional splashes of color were his norm. And yet there was something so comforting about the bright blanket.

Perhaps because it was different, and came from a kind stranger he could trust. Maybe, just maybe.

Feeling somewhat satisfied with the thought, he wiggled his way out of the blanket burrito, relishing in the cool air as it hit his overly warm body. Though his hands remained oddly warm. He lifted them towards his face to see his gloved hands. He blinked recalling the pain he had felt the day before.

He grew curious of his hands with the lack of pain and removed the glove on his left hand slowly. He grimaced, anticipating the pain. To his surprise the pain was nonexistent. He glanced down at his hand with slight fear of what he might see. The fear melted away when he saw strong and healthy finger nails grown back fully where before lay angry raw skin.

"Archer?"

Ron jumped, his head whipping around to see the woman from the day before. Ms. Alice. He glanced her over, still in the same clothes she wore yesterday. Well of course she would be. Why would she have anything else? She didn't exactly have a suitcase with her.

"Yes?" 

"Are you alright? You took your glove off, like you were expecting something horrid."

"I uh… I was missing my fingernails," he answered honestly, not seeing a reason to hide it from a magical person. Her eyes softened slightly.

"How did you lose your fingernails?"

" I teleported. And then they were gone."

Alice's face contorted into one of confusion. Ron blushed a little, his freckles blending into his face. Maybe it was a bit strange for even a magical person.

"You know, when one person is in one spot and then appears somewhere else?" he more asked than stated. She seemed to understand what he was saying because her face shed the confusion for understanding to take its place.

"Oh, dear. You spliched. That happens sometimes when apparating."

Ron furrowed his brow in confusion. Before he could ask, he heard a yawn. He gazed over to the newly awake Neville.

"Mum? Archer?" he asked with little coherency. He rubbed his eyes with the palm of his right hand. Ron was impressed that he remembered Ron whereas Ron didn't remember when he had first woken up.

"Good morning Neville. Sleep well dear?"

"Uh huh," Neville yawned. His brown eyes opened as he sat up from the blanket pile. He gave a shy smile to Ron as he made his way out of the blankets.

Alice nodded with a terse smile, "Are you two hungry?"

"Yes mum."

"Yes ma'am," Ron added as his stomach began to rumble at the prospect of food. Neville chuckled, trying to hide his laughter from Ron. Ron snorted making Neville laugh harder. Soon both boys were laughing at Ron's noisy stomach. Alice hid her worry behind their happiness. She would keep them happy as long as she could while the fighting ensued beyond the walls of their protection. Their ignorance would help them in this trying time. She silently prayed that the members of MAGIC were able to subdue Loki. She didn't want to imagine the alternative.

-.-

It was surreal. Stark lay in the debris filled streets, his heart pounding and his arc reactor glowing faintly. Smoke and ash filled his nose. As well as some seriously bad breath. He looked up at Captain America who stared at the sky in awe.

"What happened?" Tony asked.

"We won," Captain America gasped in awe covered in dirt and grime.

-.-

Strange sighed as he let his access barriers fall. Truly this was chaos at it's finest. So many innocents' dead. So many he had saved, even more he had failed. He was one man, and he knew that. That did not stop the mourning he felt for those who were needlessly slaughtered. All he could do now was help those heal. The physical, the mental, and even the spiritual pain would take time.

Concentrating his magic, he created a corporal form to alert the ones that had sought sanctuary that they were no longer under attack by the green eyed fallen prince.

"Wong, my friend. Would you assist me with the injured?" Strange asked. Wong gave Strange a rare smile.

"As if you even need to ask. Even you cannot protect everyone Steven."

-.-

"What do you mean Ron is missing?" Fury hissed. Skye flinched at his tone.

"One minute he was in the plane. The next, he was gone. All that was there were nails. _Human_ nails."

Fury cursed under his breath. He just could not catch a break today. The attack, the near nuking of Manhattan, the death of many agents including Phil Coulson (who was currently undergoing intense surgery to see if they could save the man. After all, it took about three minutes for rigamortis to set in and they had temporarily revived him still in critical condition) and now after all this, he had misplaced a child with inner knowledge of SHIELD that many enemies would covet.

"Find him. And don't tell Barton," he growled. The last thing they needed was an angry overprotective archer on the loose.

 **So If you want to know what spawned this chapter, I was listening/watching "** **Frigga, Loki, Thor || Tears of an angel** **" by things we love completely we're fated to destroy. And I had a word document up. You can see what happened I think.**

 **And please don't give me crap about the lack of Avenger's scenes. I think we can all agree I shouldn't be rewriting what you all already know. Especially since Ron isn't seeing this first hand. I am terrible at fight scenes and I don't have access to a credible blow-by-blow documentation of the Avenger's movie so I will not subject myself to not enjoying the movie to write the scenes you all know.**

 **And as for the jumping, I dunno, it just kind of felt right. Rather than force the scenes, snapshots just seemed better. So review I guess.**


	15. Reunited

**So just discovered Cybersix and absolutely fell in love with this show. So sorry I haven't posted as recently as I had wanted. It's bizarre and entertaining. Anyways, onto what you all want to actually read, the next installment of Son of the Archer.**

It was impossible to deny it. It was all over. It was finally all over. Clint smiled like a madman. They did it. The fighting, this war, it was all over. He couldn't wait to see Ron and hold him close. Reassuring him that he was okay. That they were both fine.

Even if not everyone made it out alive. His heart ached thinking of the corpse of Phil Coulson lying on the floor of the Helicarrier. A trusted man, heck a friend even. And an even better Uncle for Ron. And now he was… well he'd cross that bridge after assuring Ron he was okay.

And assuring himself Ron was alright. His heart sped up with worry and anticipation. Oh god what if he _wasn't_ fine? He hadn't seen him since Loki had taken control of his body! He tensed and made his way toward Natasha. She would know where he was. Somewhere safe. Preferably far away from the burning rubble and chaotic scene of New York.

Perhaps making new friends with some of the agents. Anything but being hurt or near this chaos (he didn't even want to think about the possibility of him being _dead_ ).

"Hey Nat," he called out as he approached. She gave him what appeared to be a glare. Clint smirked back knowing that it was a default spy thing.

"What?"

"Ron's out of the city right?"

"Agent Skye took him to Knox just before you attacked the carrier," she stated with a level of indifference that was deeply ingrained in her. Clint's smirk grew into a full-fledged smile.

"Well then, better give him a call to let him know we're okay."

-.-

"Everyone stick together! No need to cause another panic," a young agent from MAGIC directed. Alice held both Neville's hand and Archer's as they were directed towards one of the exits in Doctor Strange's abode. Alice listened for an exit that led to the muggle side of New York, hopefully where Archer's father would be. Alive.

"So what's your dad look like?" Neville asked with more confidence than Alice had seen from him in a long time. Or at least, more confidence than she had seen when he spent time with Molly's kids or Frank's mother. She may have the best intentions but that woman could scare Mad Eye.

"Well, he's taller than me. He has short brown hair, kind of spiky. And he likes to wear dark clothes. Oh, and he also," Archer paused for a moment, his brows furrowed and it almost looked like he was trying to swallow with the flexing of muscle in his neck and bobbing of his Adam's apple.

"Also what?"

"Sounds like this," he stated speaking in a completely different voice. One of a grown man, not of a young boy. Alice just about jumped in shock. This was something she hadn't seen before. She knew people who would try and match others in a mocking manner, but to sound so completely different without aid of a potion or spell was truly baffling.

"Whoa. How did you do that?" Neville gasped. Archer gave a small smirk.

"It's a gift," he commented back in his usual voice before erupting into laughter. Neville chuckled at the young red head's playful attitude.

"Alright boys that's enough. We do need to find Archer's father. Do you know his name?"

"Uh huh. Clint. His name is Clint. Though Uncle Nick sometimes calls him a, well… Uncle Phil said I'm not supposed to repeat that. Especially in front of others."

Alice furrowed her brows but didn't ask. If he wasn't supposed to say it, then it was probably something she didn't want Neville to repeat either. Though she felt like she should have a word with this Uncle Nick of his and give him a piece of her mind for saying something that shouldn't be repeated. Whatever it was anyway. Thankfully, before Neville could even think of asking, the small group was interrupted.

"North Main Street, Queens!"

"That's near the park my dad and I go to! There's an old pay phone that still works near there I can call Uncle Nick!"

"Pay phone?" Neville questioned. Alice herself was baffled. Was this something like the "felly tone" Arthur Weasley talked about? Something muggle or other probably.

She led the boys to the opening that let them out onto the abandoned Queens Street. Branches lay strewn from trees all around. Glass shards sprinkled the ground. Cars were damaged and flipped in some cases as blood and oil trickled into the drains on the edge of the street. Neville's grip on his mother's hand tightened as Ron took a few steps forward. His head turned his head around to survey the area. His face seemed almost void of any emotion.

His face paled as he saw the blood and destruction. He swallowed what little spit was in his mouth and began searching for what Alice assumed was the "pay phone". He turned back to say something when a soft smile came to his face. He closed his eyes and dropped his face as he began to chuckle.

"Strange has a great sense of humor," he laughed darkly. His blue eyes stared passed Neville and Alice sparkling with humor. Neville and Alice stared back in confusion. Archer covered his mouth with his hand trying to hide his laughter. His other hand pointed behind them. They turned around quickly to find a large blue booth, similar to ones they had seen periodically in muggle London. But rather than saying Police Box, it said "Phone Booth".

The two looked at Archer like he was a bit mad before he attempted to explain what was so funny.

"Sorry. It's just… It's _so_ much bigger on the inside you know?" he continued to giggle.

"Not really. Lots of things are bigger on the inside with magic," Neville stated. Archer stared at Neville.

"Does that make the Doctor magic?"

"Doctor? _Who_?"

"Exactly!"

"Mum, I'm confused."

"Archer, I can honestly say we have no idea what you're talking about."

"Doctor Who? British Television program that has existed for the past few decades about a time lord who travels in a police box that is actually an alien space ship with a companion to go on zany adventures through time and space?"

Their faces remained blank for a moment.

"Oh," Neville finally broke the silence, "Donovan Walt. He enchanted a few police boxes years ago, that when muggles stepped inside they would hallucinate."

"That man was the reason we have so many of our laws pertaining to muggles today," Alice groaned remembering on particular time when Lily Potter nee Evans accidently entered one and insisted that she had seen Godric Gryffindor drinking tea with Salazar Slytherin wearing a pink bonnet.

"Wait, he's real?"

"Was. Died about fifteen years ago," Alice stated. Truly an odd man he was.

-.-

"Come on Hawkass, Nobody's eaten and I'm paying. So c'mon and eat some Shawarma!"

Clint was tempted. He was rather hungry. But the thought of his son not eating because he was worried he might not be alive… that overcame any feeling of hunger he had. He needed to talk to his son.

"Sorry Tin Can. I got better things to do than to eat with your fat ass."

"I doubt your nest will miss you while you're eating," Steve joked. Tony stared bewilderedly at Steve.

"I swear, I have never would have thought you were a joking man," Tony stated.

"Howard knew. Granted, he enjoyed embarrassing me more than anything," Steve admitted trailing off near the end making Tony grin.

"Oh I know. That's why I for dessert, I'm thinking fondue."

Steve choked on his spit making Tony laugh, gasping slightly as his chest clenched with a slight ache.

"You have got to be kidding. What's so bad about fondue?" Bruce asked. Steve's face flushed slightly before sending a mild glare towards Tony who was grinning like the mad man he was.

"Oh Steve has more than fondue on his-"

"Tony!" Steve reprimanded before he could finish. Clint shook his head. As funny as this interaction looked like it was going to be, he needed to get ahold of Ron.

"As fun as all this sounds. I really need to get back home," Clint restated. Natasha gave him a quick glance.

"No can do Legalus! It's dinner time!"

Clint's jaw set firm. He did not have time for this.

"I need to see my son," he snapped at the group. The men of the group turned to stare at him in bewilderment while Natasha's eyes narrowed.

"You have a son? What poor blind woman did you get- Oh man. Is that what happened in Budapest?" Tony questioned pointing at both Natasha and Clint with a dirty smirk.

"Oh no. We did not do that in Budapest or anywhere else for that matter. _We_ have never done _that_ Tin Can."

"Ron is Clint's son that he adopted years ago. Back before I was involve with SHEILD," Natasha commented vaguely.

"Well, can't blame him. I wouldn't want to be the woman who ended up with _that_ ," Tony snarked. Clint glared at the philanthropist in armor.

"You're not one to talk. My fridge looks better than you. Maybe you should try wearing it next time."

"Please. I can make anything look good," Tony replied quickly. Clint snorted imagining Tony in trying to wear his fridge.

"Don't. Your dad already tried that," Steve groaned with a touch of amusement. Everyone stared at Steve.

"Your father was many things Tony, but he was not a model, nor could he handle Vodka all that well."

"Duly noted," Tony feigned disinterest.

-.-

Alice wasn't quite sure what happened. Not two minutes after Archer had stepped back into the faded blue booth and placed the odd "telephone" by his ears did a gruff man with a one eyed glare march up through the rubble and destruction as if it were perfectly normal. Archer grinned and ran out of Alice's reach as she tried to pull the boys behind her to keep them safe. She was even more surprised when the boy flung himself on the rather stern looking man without worry. The man didn't even so much as flinch. In fact, he put one arm around the Archer.

"Hey Uncle Nick!" Archer laughed. The man narrowed his one eye.

"Hello Ron."

"Ron? But your name's Archer isn't it?" Neville asked. Alice was confused as well. Why was this man calling Archer Ron? The man looked down at Archer with an odd look.

"Oh, so _now_ you decide you like your middle name," the man joked.

"Oh come on Uncle Nick. Please keep it down."

Nick nodded and walked up to Neville and Alice, the former holding the latter close to her side. The man held out his hand.

"Director Nick Fury of SHIELD. I need you to come with me."

Alice tightened her grip on her son's shirt and discretely reached for her wand.

"Uncle Nick. She watched me when you sent me away. She's _special_. Like me," he said with an odd inflection. Nick glanced back down at Archer, now dubbed Ron.

"You sure?"

"Uh huh. She was in Strange's house with a bunch of other people who were… also special."

Director Nick Fury closed his eye, his brow furrowed and he muttered something about not having time.

"Still. Ms-"

"Alice!"

Nick glared at Ron who only smiled impishly back at him.

"Ms. Alice. I appreciate what you have done and the effort it has taken you to get Ron back in contact with us. However, for security reasons, I need you to come with me."

"Who are you exactly? And why do I need to come with you?"

"So we're clear as to why you can't tell anyone about what has happened in the past forty eight hours."

His voice didn't hold any room for debate. Still, Alice held a firm grasp on her son and wand, ready for a fight if needed. She just hoped Ron would forgive her if it came to kidnapping him for all of their safety.

"Don't even try it," Director Nick Fury commanded, "The area is secure and surrounded. We don't want to hurt you but we will do what is necessary for our nation's security."

With heavy heart, she went with Director Nick Fury, keeping her son by her side. She knew she couldn't perform magic in front of muggles she couldn't wipe the memories of. She'd have to play diplomat. Or this could get messy.

-.-

Clint didn't think twice. He saw the small familiar flash of red and he sprinted forward, leaving the angry flying refrigerator man and the frozen flag behind to argue as the unjolly, no longer green giant and assassin watched. His arms opened when he was four feet away. Not two seconds later he wrapped his arms around the body, pulling him close.

"Oh god. Ron," he whispered.

"Dad!" Ron yelped, a grin breaking through his features. He squirmed in his dad's hold until he could hug him back. Clint was huddled over, his cheek touching Ron's before Ron buried his nose in Clint's shoulder. Tears started to leak out of Ron's eyes but Clint didn't care. They were happy tears.

"See. He's back with his father," he heard Fury grunt. Clint chuckled.

"One hell of a bring back. I didn't realize they could get him here this fast from Knox," Clint commented looking upward from his crouched position. Though he looked on with confusion. The woman with Fury was heavily guarded. She wasn't dressed in any sanctioned SHIELD or government-regulated uniform. And, oh Christ, what was another kid doing here?

"They can't," Fury stated, "Ms. Alice here was watching him while she was vacationing here with her son."

"Vacationing? Fury-?!"

"Your son teleported out of one of our ships," Fury stated. Clint's eyes went back to Ron who was still clinging onto him. He nodded his head slowly. Of course Ron would do that. He wasn't one to back out of a challenge. And he also visited the medical ward often to see agents who had been hurt. He didn't like being left out. He didn't like anyone being left behind. Why wouldn't he teleport?

"Well, thank you ma'am," he said picking Ron up. Ron wrapped his legs around his father's waist in a comical fashion with his long limbs but still able to stay up.

"It wasn't a problem Arch-Ron was a fine boy," she stated. Clint's gaze hardened.

"How do you know his middle name?"

"He told us it was his name," the boy stated somewhat fearfully. Clint's gaze softened. Of course he did. Living with spies was really wearing off on Ron.

"Alright. So what now?" Clint asked as Ron's breathing slowed. Poor guy was all tuckered out. Emotionally anyway.

"Take your son out for a bit Barton. Ms. Alice and her son still need to be made aware of a few things."

"What? You going to make them agents or something?"

Fury glowered at Clint.

"Now Barton. Or do you want to help with the paperwork?"

"I'm gone!" he called out heading back towards the other "Avengers".

Fury turned back to Alice and Neville.

"Are we all clear?"

"We wouldn't tell a soul. Children should be with their parents," Alice began, "We understand that what we could say might jeopardize their safety. We won't breath a word."

"We can visit him sometime right?"

"No," Fury began, "However, there may come a time when he is on your side of the pond. We will alert you if this is the case."

"How will you contact us? From what we've seen, there is no similar mean of communication," Alice questioned. A small smirk appeared on Fury's face.

"That's between me and my agents. You'll know."

Alice nearly shivered at the ominous tone.

"Until then I'd say you want to head back home. Correct?"

"Yes. We would. If you would just allow us to get our port key we'll be on our way."

"We will. If you tell us who is in charge of these "port keys"."

Oh this wasn't going to end well.

-.-

"Someone looks tired," Bruce commented as he saw Clint returning to the other Avengers, Steve and Tony now arguing about modern slang. Natasha glanced in Clint's direction but her eyes ultimately fell on Ron. Her lips twitched slightly upward before returning to a neutral set. Steve turned to address Bruce's comment while Tony stared bewilderedly at the child in Clint's arms.

"Damn. I thought you were kidding about a kid. I thought you just didn't like me," Tony joked. Clint gave a halfhearted glare as the others gathered around.

"No one likes you Tin Can," Clint responded. Tony ignored Clint as he looked over the now sleeping kid.

"You sure he isn't yours and Nat-"

"For god sake! He is not what happened in Budapest!"

"He's a bit older than I thought he would be. You sure you didn't kidnap him?" Steve joked. Clint's jaw tightened slightly. It was still a sore subject that people would question if he took Ron from his family. Calling him a circus thief.

"No I didn't steal him," he grumbled. Ron groaned and moved his head. His eyes opened with slight irritation. He blushed however when he realized he was about to fall into a deep sleep while being carried in his dad's arms like he was a baby. And he jumped into it! It didn't take long for his face to match his hair as he unwrapped his legs from his dad's waist and his arms from his neck. He moved his left arm under his dad's right arm to at least keep some contact.

Blue eyes gazed over three men he had never met before and his Aunt Tasha.

"Dad? Who are they?" Ron asked. They were not SHIELD operatives. Well, his Aunt was but that was not who he was referring to.

"Who? These guys? Mr. America, Trash can, and Anger Management here?" he asked pointing at the three men, from the blond, to the bearded man, and then to the small man with curly hair.

"Steve, Tony and Bruce," Natasha translated.

"Really Hawkass? Trash can?"

"Don't call my dad that!" Ron snapped. Clint chuckled and ruffled Ron's hair.

"You heard him Stark."

"Keep it PG," Bruce sighed. Obviously Clint was one of those parents that kids just were really proud of. It was going to be an absolute nightmare when he hit that teenage rebellious stage. At least for Clint, considering how proud the kid seemed to be of him.

"Fine. So what's the kids name Legalus?"

"Ron. My name is Ron," the blue-eyed kid answered.

"Well Ron," Tony began, "I'm hungry. We're all hungry. I kind of want Shawarma. Don't know what it is but there is a place that sells it nearby. You wanna come?"

"We're surrounded by debris and chaos."

"So?"

"I don't see why not," Ron shrugged. Tony grinned like a maniac.

"I like this kid Hawky. Mind if I borrow him?"

"You are not borrowing my son Bolts for Brains."

-.-

Chaos was not limited to New York. Reunions weren't happening everywhere. Not all vacations had a happy ending. A young girl was learning this the hard way as she watched her parents be placed in a local cemetery back in her home country England. Tears poured from sorrel brown eyes, red rimmed from crying. Her hair a wild mess of frizzy curls, and her clothes, the bleakest of black. Her grandparents, old and withered could not care for her in their age, she cried not only in misery, but also in fear. Fear from being alone, and fear from witnessing her parent's death before her eyes in Germany.

She was to be sent to live with her Godfather, if he would have her. She was to fly to America to see if he would take her in, or if she was doomed to be lost to the system. Her tears poured faster as the last bit of dirt was placed over the two caskets. The tombstone was plain with two carved hearts reading, _Here lies Thomas Jacob Granger Jane Ellen Granger. May these two rest in peace as eternal as their love._

The poor girl was led away in tears, her bags already packed, and leaving within the week to meet her godfather. Whether he knew it then or not.

 **So… am I an ass or what. This was actually something I was debating. Then I decided, "You know what? I'll do it!"**

 **So Hermione is an orphan because of Loki. Ain't I a stinker?**

 **Who do you all think the Godfather is? Take a guess, maybe you'll be right. Or maybe you'll give me a better idea than the one I have right now and I'll use yours. Who knows? Please review.**


	16. First steps in the tower

**I don't own Avengers, Harry Potter, their characters or the writings of William Joyce.**

It had been two days. Somehow, Ron wasn't surprised to see how quickly New York was pulling itself back together. He had seen on the news the best, and the worst from people. He knew that war brought both.

Just like it took away...

He felt his father's arm wrap around his torso and over to his arm as they listened to the short ceremony SHIELD had presented to surviving agents for the fallen, including Phil Coulson.

It hurt. Ron had known agents sometimes didn't make it out of different situations alive or unharmed. He knew a few that weren't lucky. But it hadn't ever been one of his _family_ before. Sure he knew that they had been shot, poisoned, electrocuted, and stabbed. But they hadn't died before.

Ron rubbed his eyes of tears that had already stained his face. A light squeeze went through his shoulder. He leaned his head into his father's chest, taking in the support he was more than willing to give. The ceremony was short. They all had work to return to. If felt like an eternity for Ron.

And it still wasn't quite long enough. He was led by his father out of the cemetery, and began walking to their new quarters. Ron wasn't quite ready to think of it as a home. He hardly noticed that they had made it back to a SHIELD sanctioned vehicle and sat in the back next to his father.

He leaned into his shoulder and felt the warmth of his father's arm cover his own shoulder.

"Think he went peacefully?" Ron asked.

"I think he went protecting those he loved," he said planting a light kiss to his temple, "And that he wouldn't have wanted to go any other way."

* * *

"A little more to the left," Tony commented twitching his finger directing his machines repairing his tower, "Leave the dent in the floor. Want to show the little bird the greatest thing ever done to crazy Norse wannabe gods. JARVIS! Please tell me you got that all recorded."

"Of course sir."

"Fantastic. Got the spare rooms set up?"

"Of course sir. The rooms you requested are ready."

Tony smirked. If he had told himself years ago that he would be housing a green rage man, America's golden boy, two super spies and a young boy, he would have called them crazy. Hell he probably was. But he'd done crazier things before.

* * *

Nick didn't say anything as he picked up the short eleven year old girl from the surprisingly open airport. Her face tear stained, and hiccups slipping past her lips. Red rimmed doe brown eyes closed as she tried to hide a new onslaught of tears.

"I don't want to be alone," she whispered. Nick nodded his head. It was hard enough that she had lost her parents vacationing in Germany. That she had to leave her home country to be raised by a godfather she never had met, only to find out that he was dead because of the same man who killed her parents. It didnt mean that all was lost though. There was always playing _the godmother_ card. Until then, he was sure that Stark could handle another youth in his tower.

"You won't be. Tell me some things about yourself," Nick stated, acting more human than his usual agent leading self.

"I like reading," she said softly.

"What kind of things do you like reading."

"All things. I love books. Especially nonfiction and fantasy."

"Any certain book you like?"

The young lady blushed and looked away. Her eyes were still full of tears but we're now open. She bit her lip. A nervous habit. Nick raised a brow curiously. Perhaps bullied by her choice? Advanced literature maybe?

"Promise you won't laugh?"

"Promise."

"I like... I really enjoy the Guardians of Childhood series. By William Joyce."

Nick blinked. Why would that be so embarrassing?

"Can't say I've heard much about the series. Want to tell me about it?" he asked with little interest. Perhaps it had been from living with Ron for many years had opened him up to small talk with small children, or the fact that she was Coulson's goddaughter, her didn't know. But now he couldn't shut her up from giving a long winded and well detailed description of an obviously enjoyed writing.

It sounded a little childish and predictable to the director, but it seemed to be just fine for a young avid reader. And certainly not a bad choice to be mocked by peers if her original shyness to talk about it was any indicator.

Though he was thankful that the story was fairly easy to follow and that she was so engrossed in describing it, she didn't notice him pulling out a phone and sending a few messages. Once they were sent, he motioned for her to sit in his car. He needed coffee and he was sure she needed a better breakfast than what was available at a currently paranoid airport.

* * *

Ron sat at the table with his dad to his left and his Aunt Tasha across from him. Doctor Bruce Banner sat off a little ways trying to seclude himself and failing with Tony plopped right between the doctor and the child of a spy. He was loud and trying to engage his "Science Bro" and boast to Ron about the bashing and the defeat of Loki, something Ron enjoyed with a bitterness attached. He felt a grim enjoyment seeing the dent from the demigod's humility. Served the green eyed jerk a lesson.

"And just wait til you meet Thor. He's like the giant golden retriever puppy you always wanted but you couldn't get with the grumpy pirate around."

"I like shepards," Ron admitted. Clint smiled.

"Belgian shepards," he chuckled. Ron gave a small smile back. Not a full out grin, but on his way to feeling happy again. Or trying to ignore Coulson's death for as long as he could.

"Belgian shepards?" Bruce asked quietly raising a brow. Ron looked over to his dad. Clint nodded his head letting Ron know he could continue.

"When I was little, I kind of got separated from my dad cause I chased after a fluffy puppy. Aunt Tasha found me playing with it in a park."

Natasha smirked at his rendition.

"Your father just about had a heart attack when I found you being licked mercilessly by a large black puppy. The owner was extremely flustered when they couldn't get the puppy off you."

"Aunt Tasha!" Ron whined, his face flushing slightly red. Tony laughed as Clint chuckled. Bruce gave Ron a smile and a slight sympathetic look.

"Ron," she commented back with no emotion. Ron's lower lip jutted out into a pout before he could realize what he was doing. Only moments later did he realize and pull his lip back in, his face a bright scarlet.

"I have dinner," a voice broke in much to Ron's relief. Tony's girlfriend (or was it fiancé?) Pepper (if that was her real name, it seemed a bit odd) came in with bags of fake out and a slight glare directed at him for not coming with her to grab the take out. Though she seemed a bit more bothered than just a run for food, at least in Ron's opinion. At the food amount she had, there looked to be too much. And with the fridge being one of the... Casualties, leftovers would be wasted.

"That's a lot. Are we going to eat a lot?"

Pepper's lip twitched upward.

"I ran into someone while I was out. We chatted and I invited them to dinner."

"Them?" Tony questioned.

"Yes, them."

"Is that a problem Stark?" a familiar Baritone demanded attention. Ron's face lit up a bit and jumped out of his chair.

"Aw, looks like someone likes Fury more than you Trashcan?" Clint joked. His own eyes landed on his son who wasn't hugging Fury like he expected, but stood next to him looking at someone. Clint stood from his chair to see a smaller girl standing half behind Fury with unmanageably frizzy brown hair.

"Hi," Ron greeted.

"Hullo," the girl responded, her voice having a distinctly British lit.

"My name's Ron. What's yours?"

"Hermione. Hermione Gr-Gran-Granger," she began sobbing. In the blink of an eye, Ron wrapped his arms around the crying girl. Her arms wrapped around his back under his arms rather slowly and shaky. Ron stood stiff as a board, somewhat paralyzed in emotional confusion. Fury placed a hand on Hermione's back comfortingly.

It was Pepper who took action. She put down the food and guided the kids out of the dining area to a small study she had arranged with a small couch. Once the two had left the room, all attention was turned to Fury.

"Care to explain Fury?" Clint questioned. There had been occasional playful jabs made about Clint picking up strays. But this was a first for Nick. The only strays he took in were potential agents.

"She's my goddaughter."

It took a moment. Clint snorted.

"Nick or _Nicole_?"

"Nicole?" Tony questioned.

"Nicole," Fury confirmed. Clint whistled.

"So that is you and Phil's godchild. What's she doing here in the states?"

"Her parents are dead."

There was a moment of silence.

"And you're now going to raise a British orphan?" Stark questioned with a spark of amusement.

"He could probably do better than you at raising her Tony," Steve joked.

"I may not be the one raising her," Fury cut in before what was sure to be an otherwise inevitable snark fest, "Biological relationship gets first pick."

"So... Grandparents? Aunts? Uncles?"

"Cousin. Third cousin once removed to be exact," he stated staring at Bruce intently. His face paled.

"I don't have any... I haven't spoken to them in years," he grew quieter.

"Doesn't change that she had a kid and she's your relative."

* * *

Pepper held both children close as Ron had broken down along with Hermione. Both missing someone dear to them to a green eyed monster. Pepper whispered comforting words to them as they felt their breathes steady. Ron seemed to close himself off, his face growing cold and emotionless, trying to ignore the heartache and pain. Hermione on the other hand released all of her emotion pulling both Ron and Pepper into her whirlwind of emotion.

It felt like forever when they both crashed, both asleep on the couch. Pepper slipped out from between them waking a bleary eyed, red rimmed Ron. He glanced around slid closer to Hermione seeking warmth before falling back into an exhausted slumber. Both sat still, only breathing with wet tear tracks down their cheeks.

Pepper slid her jacket off and placed over the two children. And silently slid out of the room. She sighed and made her way back to the dining room. When she returned to the room emotions were in no clearer order than when she had comforted the two young children.

"Dare I ask?"

"We're going to need another room Pep," Tony blurted out. Bruce looked oddly tense but nodded his head in agreement. A few stray pieces of paper in front of Bruce raised questions in Pepper's mind.

"Well, I should be leaving then," Fury stated standing up. Pepper furrowed his brow.

"Hermione just fell asleep. You can't just leave," Pepper hissed.

"I don't have much of a choice. The world is still moving even if it's been attacked."

"She was bawling her eyes out."

"She hardly knows me. I'm not abandoning her or Ron. Besides, it will give her some time to get to know her new guardian."

"Tony," Pepper began. He lifted his hands in the air, "Not me Pep. But Brucie here on the other hand..."

Bruce groaned.

"Bruce's distant cousin," Steve explained. Clint and Natasha remained rather stony faced, sending each other silent messages with slight twitches of the nose and lips and occasional movements of their eyes.

This was way too much for one woman.

"We'll talk about this tomorrow morning," she yawned turning around.

"What no dinner?"

"I need sleep Tony. Large breakfast tomorrow. Something filling for the kids too."

"Speaking of, where are they? Ron should be sleeping in a bed. And Hermione too," Clint added.

"The study. They're on the couch," she answered followed by leaving the room. The group was silent and looked back at the now lukewarm take out.

"Is anyone really hungry anymore?" Tony snarked.

"Eh. Might as well eat. What'd she grab?" Steve asked.

"Chinese."

"Pass the lo mein."

"Toss an egg roll!"

"Do we have any plates?"

"How can you guys be hungry at a time like this?"

"Time passes and your body uses energy. Now shut up and eat the honey chicken before you run yourself into the ground and make us have to drag your ass to the medical ward in front of your son."

"That's cruel Tasha."

 **Well... This was a vomit of unexpected hell. But hey... Now we know the godfather. And the... _Godmother_. Wow. Had a lot of people wanting Fury. But a lot of people wanted also wanted Phil. Then I thought of a dog we owned named Nicole and the idea was born. Terrifying, no?**

 **Originally I was going to have Bruce be the godfather. But physical similarities led to a more related thing between them. But then stuff happened.**

 **So yeah. I hope you all review and let me know what you're thinking.**


	17. Magic? But of course she is!

Ron groaned clinging to the pocket of soft warmth he was snuggled into. He felt drained, but too awake to go back to sleep. He wanted to sleep. But something niggled at the back of his mind telling him to get up. Sort of like his dad couldn't sleep when he hadn't turned in a mission report to Uncle Nick.

Damn ingrained spy sense. Telling him there was something but never remembering what it was. It was irritating. Groaning, he opened a somewhat cloudy blue eye. The room was brightly lit and adjourned in red and gold merchandise with occasional wood furniture. A bit of an eyesore to a child raised in shrouds of black, steely gray and chrome, and kept in silvery narrow weapons and technology. Hair was the only shock of color in his otherwise black and white world.

Hair and eyes.

So this ravishing red and glorious gold was a strain on his eyes after years of mostly monotonous colors. It was only the strains of sky blue that didn't hurt his eyes. A blue he saw alomst everyday in the airship and occasional softer hues of the end of a sunset.

But he didn't remember falling asleep here.

His other eye opened, the fogginess leaving his clear sparkly blue eyes. He pushed himself up to sit up. This room...

He fell asleep in a more... Brown room. Like a warm lodge, a study now that he thought about it. Not quite his dad's or his Aunts' or Uncles'. And it was... Pepper who took him and-

Hermione!

Where was she? She was scared and crying and upset. He slipped the covers off and stepped out of the bed. He darted to the door, jumping when he heard an extremely posh and formal British accent.

"Good morning Mr. Ron Barton."

Ron surveyed the room before recalling the great butler in the ceiling.

"Uh morning JARVIS," he mumbled, then realized what he could do with it, "Hey can you tell me where Hermione is?"

"Miss Hermione is in the kitchen with Doctor Bruce Banner," the mechanical butler stated with little emotion or inflection. For some reason, it was even odder than hearing the emotionless agents when they spoke of their missions or gave greetings. Perhaps he figured that Tony (as he liked to be called) would have had a more emotional sounding entity for his robotic butler companion. Or maybe he was used to seeing the face of whoever was talking with him.

"Um... Thanks. Uh JARVIS?" Ron hesitated.

"Yes Mr. Ron Barton?"

Still emotionless.

"Can you tell me... That is... Where is the kitchen from here?" Ron asked, his face heating up, turning a little red. He couldn't help that this tower was more confusing than the Helicarrier.

"Of course Mr. Ron Barton. Exit your room and walk to the elevator down the hall. The kitchen is on floor 58."

"Thanks," Ron whispered ducking his head to stare at the ground as he left the room. His bare feet slapping across the floor.

* * *

"You look tired."

"I have taken five fighters and two munchkins in my home." Tony stated. Pepper rolled her eyes.

"Yes Tony. I know."

"Why?"

"Because behind that arc reactor you actually have a heart."

* * *

Bruce sipped his coffee as Hermione asked him questions.

"So you've traveled all over the world?" Hermione asked. Bruce shrugged giving a small smile.

"To small third world countries mostly," he admitted, "Though I did fly to England many years ago for my mother."

"Your mother?"

Bruce nodded, "She was sick and didn't think she'd do well traveling so I went in her stead to visit her cousin, your grandmother."

"How did they know each other. I mean, they were family, but wouldn't they be more distant?"

"Well, if my mother's stories were to believed then it was through a family reunion and a banana cream pie."

"Could you tell me?"

Bruce flushed red,"Only when you're older. Any other questions? Would you like some breakfast?"

"I'm not very hungry thank you. Why didn't anybody talk about you?"

Bruce's face fell slightly.

"I didn't talk to them for about ten years. I assume they didn't want to try and learn about someone you may never meet."

Bruce sipped his coffee feeling the uneasy silence. He noted the elevator doors opening and a blur of red hair and yesterday's clothes rushing out towards the kitchen area. He skidded to a stop sliding slightly on the slick floors. He gasped breathing heavily.

"Morning," Bruce greeted.

"Uh, morning Bruce. Hi Hermione."

"Hullo Ron."

"Here for breakfast?" Bruce asked. Ron grinned and grabbed a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter. He looked around the room for a knife to spread the peanut butter only for Bruce to tap his shoulder. Ron turned to see a table knife in Bruce's hand.

Ron grabbed it from Bruce and began to make a sandwich. Halfway through a swipe, he heard a large klang of metal falling. Hermione and Bruce jumped as he looked over towards the destroyed refrigerator. The vent grate above it was no longer in place, but on the floor. Above the fridge was a smiling dust bunny covered Clint Barton.

"Morning dad."

"Morning Ronnie, Brucie, and Hermione," he joked sliding out from the vent and onto the broken fridge. His once clean and crisp SHIELD sanctioned uniform was covered in patchy white and grey dust particles and hair. Hermione covered her mouth trying to be polite and suppress a laugh. Ron didn't laugh but smiled seeing such a familiar action. He jumped down and gave his son a hug ruffling his fluffy red hair.

"Sleep well?" Bruce asked the archer.

"Well enough," he responded, "So, any plans for today?"

"Absolutely not," Bruce admitted, "I was thinking about showing Hermione around the tower but..."

"Eh, I get it. I still haven't figured out all the vents yet. Getting there, but not quite there yet. And of course Pepper took Tony to get this stuff fixed," he commented gesturing at the damage in the room.

"Do you always travel through the vents Mr. Barton?" Hermione asked.

"Call me Clint kid. And it's a lot more fun to go through the vents than take the elevator."

Hermione raised a brow in almost a condescending way along with curiosity sparking in her brown eyes.

"It sounds dangerous."

Clint shrugged his shoulders.

"It's a lot of fun!" Ron responded quickly, "We do it all the time."

"Eh hem?" His dad gave an impish grin.

"What? It's more fun than teleporting. And no chance or fingernails getting left behind either," he finished with a low grumble. His dad's brows furrowed in confusion while Bruce stared in bewilderment at the two. Hermione stared with more confusion.

"Are you a mutant? I've read about those. They are people with a unique mutation that gives a person an incredible power. I read that many have migrated to the United States to escape persecution from their own home land after being attacked or tortured-"

"Whoa! Slow down there. Breathe Hermione," Clint joked. Hermione took a deep breath allowing Bruce to take over speaking.

"I don't believe Hermione or I would have a problem if Ron were a mutant. Or anyone else here for that matter."

"Ron is not a mutant Bruce. I know. We had him tested."

"Really dad? You had to go there?" He asked. Clint grinned and gave him a noogie.

"If you're not a mutant, what are you?" Hermione questioned.

"A Ron," Ron blurted out. Clint barked out a laugh while Bruce chuckled. Hermione's face scrunched up in irritation that her question was being ignored.

"You didn't answer me," she somewhat whined, somewhat demanded.

"Or maybe you didn't ask the right question," Ron shot back more jovially. Hermione's face turned into a hardened glare beyond the usual level of an eleven year old.

"You know what I was asking!" She snapped back. Perhaps it was years of watching his dad and Aunt Tasha interact or Aunt Uncle Fitzsimmons banter but Ron didn't stop.

"Or do I?" Ron joked. Hermione's anger was obvious as she glared at Ron. Her breathing was trying to be calming through her anger, though Ron's smug and amused face didn't help and the rage boiled over. But her body didn't move instead, there was a shattering noise behind Ron. The three males turned to see what broke as Hermione's face contorted into horror and fear. On the counter lay one of Tony's martini glasses shattered into small fragments. Clint raised a brow and nonchalantly turned to face the once enraged girl.

"This happen often?" he asked. Hermione looked down in shame. Bruce turned and awkwardly placed a hand on her shoulder.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of Hermione. We all have our little quirks."

"So you blow up a lot of stuff?" Ron asked softly with no hint of mockery.

"Blowing things up is rather new," she admitted. Her mouth shut tight not wanting to say anything more. Ron blinked.

"I wonder if I could-"

"Don't try it Ron. We've got enough craziness from your tricks."

Hermione perked her head up slightly.

"Come on dad. It would be awesome. Me popping in places and blowing up bad guys and disappearing again."

"No Ron. I do not want you blowing stuff up. Nor would Fury."

"Aw, but Uncle Nick likes me," he grinned impishly.

"Uncle Nick?" Hermione asked.

"A family takes all kinds," Bruce stated, "Ordinary, extrodinary, mutant, or-"

"Magical," Ron added with a grin. Clint waggled his brows back in amusement.

"Indeed. Magical!" Clint commented with a fake posh accent, though hinting at a secret between the two. Hermione would have asked when a pop echoed through the room. Bruce and Clint tensed as they turned to face some stranger in the room. Ron's eyes lit up slightly.

"You were at Doctor Strange's house!" Ron called out. The young man gave a smile.

"Yes. It's good to see you Archer."

"You know this guy kiddo?" Clint asked a little perturbed that this stranger not only knew his son, but was addressing him by his middle name. Ron nodded his head.

"Yep. But why are you here?"

The man pulled out his wand and waved it at the martini glass, saying soft words under his breath. Hermione gasped making the others look. Sitting on the table was the martini glass undamaged.

"What-?"

"Underage magic. It's our job to clean up the messes and explain to the families that their kid is magic."

"But I know I'm magic!" Ron blurted out. Bruce blinked in confusion and Clint groaned at his son's impulsiveness. Hermione gave them all a look.

"Not you. Her."

There was a moment of silence before both Ron and Clint collectively went "Oh."

"Magic? That's crazy. Magic is just stage tricks and elaborate smoke and mirrors."

"Wow. She should have seen the pillow gloves."

"Magic? Well I've certainly dealt with crazier things in life."

"You can't- You really believe in this?" Hermione gasped not believing how well her guardian was taking this.

"There are many things we don't understand in this world. Magic is probably just an older mutation that has remained consistent throughout the years-"

"That allows us all to do the same thing?" the man finished with a slightly annoyed look, "You're one of those guys aren't you. The one who just can't take "magic dammit" as an answer."

Bruce shrugged.

"There has to an answer to how it works. Even if we don't know it yet." he stated simply.

"Yeah, and it's called magic," the agent grumbled rubbing his forehead.

"Just roll with it Bruce. It's easier to deal with trying to learn what they know than to try and figure out what they don't know," Clint smiled.

Before anyone could comment anything more, the elevator doors opened and the owner of the two wer entered the room. He paused for a moment looking at the group of individuals in the room.

"Please tell me this isn't part of Fury's posse," Tony groaned looking thoroughly annoyed at the unknown gentleman in the room, "Why do you even bother? I'm just going to kick you out. Fury or not."

"Not from Fury Tin Can."

"Thank you Legalus. So who are you and what are you doing in my tower? Want an autograph or something?"

The man groaned.

"I am not paid enough money in the world for this," he groaned. He glanced over to Bruce, "You related or live with this guy? Either of you?" He had looked over to Hawkeye for confirmation.

"As of this past week, we are living with the guy," Clint stated.

"Well then. No need to Obliviate, take care of the kids," he glanced around the room, "Maybe hire a cleaning service, and oh yeah... Magic is real. See yah!"

"Wait what?" Tony asked dumbly not following the conversation.

"I've done my job. Any more questions you can ask... shit... You guys know Strange right? Talk to him. I am out of here," he said popping out of the room. The men blinked in confusion. Ron stiffled a laugh at the obscurity. Apparently that man was busy enough and didn't have a lot of time to explain things with all the chaos to set straight.

"What the hell just happened?" Tony asked. Hermione gasped and Bruce sent him a look.

"Tony. Such language. In front of an impressionable young lady at that. For shame," Clint joked. Tony glared at Clint.

"Very funny Hawk-a -Hawky," he quickly changed. Clint smirked. Oh he _so_ had the advantage in their name calling now.

"Settle down you two," Bruce commented placing a hand on Clint's shoulder, "Clint, could you please explain what all this is?"

"Magic Bruce didn't you listen?" Ron interuppted, "Hermione can do it. Just like me!"

"Magic? Like card tricks?" Tony asked walking over to his liquor cabinet. Ron scrunched his nose then smiled deviously.

"Me and Hermione can do more than that."

"It's Hermione and I," Hermione corrected. Ron passively ignored her in favor of trying one of his tricks. Not teleporting. He was going to avoid that one for awhile. Nor was he going to try and blow something up. That could be Hermione's thing. He thought back to when he was little and changed his Aunt Tasha's gloves into pillows. He wondered if he could do that to drinks too. He focused his eyes on the light yellow and bubbly drink Tony poured for himself.

"Tony. You shouldn't be drinking this early," Bruce reprimanded. Tony rolled his eyes and took a sip. Ron frowned but kept at it. He had made something change before. Why couldn't he do it now? Was it because it was a liquid? Or was he not trying hard enough?

"I had someone break into my house and pop out. Will someone explain what happened or will I have to go to JARVIS?"

"You'd go to your computer anyway Chrome Dome."

"I still have a fuller head than you do Merida," he fired back taking another sip. He stopped for a moment and took another, far more tenative sip. He looked down at his drink cautiously.

"JARVIS?"

"Yes sir?"

"I did pour champagne right?"

"You did sir."

"This isn't champagne. This is soda."

Ron grinned, "Ha!"

Clint looked over at Ron fairly amused, "Don't drink anything he gives you. Even if you do turn it into pop."

"You did this?" Tony questioned. Hermione turned back to Ron.

"You weren't joking. You really have-"

"Magic," Ron finished for her, "Want to go play cards? I think Tony is going to be bugging my dad for a while."

Hermione was about to complain, but thought better. Ron was the only person her age near by, and he had been nicer to her than many of the other children she had interacted with around their age. That and he knew... he knew what it was like to have special powers. She hopped out of her chair and followed Ron to the elevator as Tony began questioning both Clint and Bruce.

 **Not my favorite. But what I'm looking forward to writing should be happening within the next five or so chapters... Maybe. I have a timeline in my head and the scene that helped get this story into existence will be coming up soon. I just hope I can do it justice when I get there. Anyway... Hermione has revealed her magic. Ron is playing with his accidental magic... if you can call it that anymore. Tony is confused and sober, Bruce is accepting, and Clint is laughing at all the other's confusion.**

 **Anyway, please do leave a review, for better or for worse.**


	18. Can't the glass just stay there?

**Hey guys! Sorry about previously. I don't have a beta and well, after reading this so many times I don't always think things through. The name edit has been made. Thank you everyone!**

The entirety of the people living in the tower didn't happen til late at night, after both Ron and Hermione had fallen asleep on Tony's new couch and after the refrigerator had been replaced. Steve looked over at the two clearly bewildered by the news as was Pepper. Natasha innocently sipped her tea filing away Hermione's shared trait with her adoptive nephew. Clint was stuck telling stories of Ron's gifts to convince the skeptics in their minds that this was all real, enjoying the fresh reactions to a new audience, even if Natasha had to add in her own remarks. Damn no-no spot. Tony would definitely be an ass about that.

"So they are magic?" Steve questioned a gained looking at the children rather wary. Clint stopped laughing and glared at the national icon.

"They are not satan spawn," he spat out. Steve looked at Clint rather confused. So did Tony and Bruce. Natasha glanced over at Clint judging his facial expression.

"I never said they were. I'm just miffed that after all this science talk someone is just saying its magic and moving on with it."

"Not our fault you can't understand how to work a phone Capsicle," Tony snarked.

"I'm not the one making technology so complicated. Why would I want to play scrabble on a phone?"

"You put words with friends on his phone?" Natasha questioned looking curiously at the possibly(more than likely) mad inventor. Tony didn't say anything and looked down at his phone without a care.

"Tony," Pepper groaned. Tony grinned.

"Figured he could do with a game his own speed. Why, when he was a lad," he began with a gesture, sticking his pointer finger into the air as if to scold a young child, "They walked to and from school, four miles both ways, uphill! Such a strain in old age."

"And yet I still look younger than you," Steve smiled sipping his coffee. Tony sputtered at the quip as Pepper and Clint laughed, Bruce chuckled and Natasha sent a sly grin.

"He's not the only one," Natasha added confidently. Clint rolled his eyes.

"You don't look a day over sixty Tash," Clint joked.

"Much older than that."

"No way you're over thirty," Pepper gushed. Natasha nodded her head.

"Most people believe that," she stated rather vaguely.

"Wait, then how old are you?" Tony questioned.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to ask a lady her age?" Natasha quipped. Clint chuckled.

"We should keep it down," Bruce spoke softly, "The children are trying to sleep."

The group looked over at the children wrapped in blanket burritos of red quilts. Clint smiled and walked over to the two.

"Wanna grab your kid Bruce?" Clint asked scooping up his taller than average lanky red head. Ron curled into Clint's chest placing his ear over Clint's heart. A small smile came to the child's face.

"Awe," Pepper cooed. Bruce stood up and walked over to Hermione. He reached out to pick her up before pulling back. Clint raised a brow.

"Come on Bruce, she's still asleep all you need to do is pick her up like I did."

Bruce gave him a look. Clint gave one back challenging him. Bruce sighed and slipped his hands under Hermione and slowly lived her upward to his chest similarly to how Clint lifted Ron. However, Hermione's head lulled backward over his arm. He stammered and looked over to the others. Steve stood, taking pity on Bruce, adjusting her head onto his shoulder. A wave relief fell over the group as Clint and Bruce made their way over to the elevator. Natasha stood leaving Pepper, Tony and Steve at the table to ruffle Ron's hair before disappearing doing God knows what for the evening.

Life as they had known it had changed for the entertaining. Days melted into weeks as buildings were rebuilt and lives cherished. Everything was moving on even if not unmarred. Accidental bouts of magic happened all of three times. Twice with Hermione and once with Ron.

Tony learned that nothing could be kept out of reach from the two of them, Steve learned that Hermione was without a doubt the good child, and Bruce had found out Ron didn't always listen and seemed to be more open to "learning" by doing.

Clint and Natasha only watched with amusement far used to Ron's own magical mayhem with SHIELD in the sky. Life was moving as smoothly as possible with a billionaire, his fiancé, a ninety year old soldier, a muscly green rage machiene, two assassins, and two adolescent magic users. It only got stranger after a month and a half, with a particularly bad rainstorm.

Thunder rumbled and Hermione was filled with a bout of sadness. She was sitting down trying to read a Guardians of Childhood book, but her eyes kept wandering to the putter patter of the rain and the rolling thunder.

"What's a matter Mione?" Ron asked walking over to a plush leather chair Hermione was sitting in, covered in dust bunnies. He spat out dust gathered in his mouth to get her attention from the window.

"Nothing. I'm just trying to read," she grumbled. Ron rolled his eyes and sat on one of the arm rests to her annoyance.

"Personal space, haven't you heard of it?" she snapped. Ron rolled his eyes.

"I have. I also know that people are happier when their with other people when their sad. So, wanna play a game or something?"

"No Ron. I don't want to play. I just want to read my book," she huffed.

"Spending more time looking out the window then reading," Ron grumbled. Hermione opened her mouth to retort when a particularly loud clap of thunder made her scream. Ron jumped, falling off the armrest and onto the floor. Both their hearts were beating unbelievably fast.

"Loud storm."

"Uh huh."

"Want to go to Pepper's study? She did say we could use it when she's out. And it's a little quieter," Ron commented, ignoring the quiver in his voice. Hermione didn't say anything and began to follow. As they began walking to the elevator, there was an impossibly loud clap of thunder followed by the sound of shattering glass. The two turned, their eyes wide. Ron grabbed Hermione's shaking shoulder as they tried to steady their breathing. There by the now broken window was a wet, blond man with a long flowing red cape. They proceeded to scream at the intruder.

* * *

"Sir."

"What is it now JARVIS?" Tony groaned. He had been making repairs to Dum-E's wiring after somebody spilt juice on him. Or, some sort of sticky and fruity drink...

"It would appear as though Mr. Thor has returned from Asgard sir. He has landed in your living room and proceeded to terrify Miss Hermione Banner, and Mister Ronald Barton"

Tony lifted his face slightly, scrunched in confusion as his brows knitted closer together trying to imagine what the hell his butler just said.

"What?"

"Mr. Thor has returned from Asgard sir, and is terrifying Miss Hermione Banner and Mister Ronald Barton in the living room. Shall I order a new window pane sir?"

"Yeah do that. And while you're at it, stop calling Thor Mister would yah? Just Thor. And Same with the kids. Just Ron and Hermione," he commented walking out of the room. He just had to get a Norse god today didn't he? Couldn't have gotten Pepper in some sexy lingerie sneaking up on him and distracting him, oh no. It just had to be the man who wears his mother's drapes.

It didn't take him long to ride down the elevator letting his imagination come up with many colorful scenarios, to see Ron standing in front of Hermione and hiding behind his couch and Thor standing rather intimidating with his hammer raised. Of all the shitty luck!

"Yo Señor Hammertime, put the hammer down please," Tony stated walking into the room. Damn he was going to need a drink after all this.

"Ah! Tony, son of Stark, these magical deviants have infiltrated your home and have attacked," Thor explained not lowering his hammer.

Tony looked over at the two. Hermione's face was stark white with fear while Ron had a slightly darker tone and his freckles showing quite clearly on his face.

"Look Thor, these two munchkins, are Clint and Bruce's kids. They aren't intruders, and also, how the hell do you know they're magic?" Tony questioned ignoring Hermione's gasp. Thor stood tall and gestured to the two, bringing his hammer down to his side.

"Their presence is emitting an aura that carries similarities to my brother. An energy that does not match other... Of the same biological set up. And there was no mistaking the push of magic that flipped your feasting table," he gestured to splintered remains littering the floor, "I had defended myself and they hid behind your lounging couch."

Ron glared at the Loreal worthy God when it seemed Hermione lost it.

"You're mad. You're bloody mad," she began breathing heavily. Ron looked over back at Thor.

"Ive got to agree with Mione on this one. Who breaks through a windo- well, other than my dad... And Aunt Tasha... And Uncle Nick did a few times... And there was that one accident with Aunt-Uncle FitzSimmons... Huh, a lot of people I guess. Never mind then," Ron trailed off.

"Breaking windows a normal thing?" Tony asked. Ron shrugged.

"Relatively considering how much one sided glass we had in the ship."

Hermione looked over at Ron as if he had grown another head, color began to return to her face.

"Well, Thor, I say you are welcome to stay, as long as you protect and not harm the kids. Kay big guy?" Tony stated more than asked, "Cause if not, Hawky will try to take you down along with Hulk. Not that Hawkeye is much of a threat, but Hulk did throw Loki around like a broken doll."

"Most certainly. I would be honored if you would allow me to stay. And I will lay my life down to protect them."

"My god. He's like a giant puppy," Ron whispered,wide eyed from disbelief on how easily disarming Thor seemed to be. Hermione nodded.

"I like puppies," she whispered, her face flushing red. Ron snorted which led to a slap from Hermione.

* * *

"Thor," Clint growled lowly, "I heard you were back."

"Clint, son of Barton. Indeed I have returned. Did the Man of Iron alert you?" Thor asked consuming one of Tony's pop tarts... Looked like he at the rest of the box already...

"Oh yeah, he did. But between you and me," he began, his face contorted into a menacingly protective scowl and glare, "I find out if _anybody_ attacks my son. I don't care if you're a god or not, I will find out, and no one who harms him will not be safe."

"My apologies. I believed him to be an intruder. A child taken under my brother's influence."

"Why? Because he's magic? I knew he was special, I found out he had magic."

"Not solely this. Both children had magic, your son's is far older in nature."

Clint raised a brow almost condescendingly.

"Hermione's older," Clint stated, void of any inflection in his voice.

"Age perhaps. But your son's magic bears a history of a strong family submerged in magic for generations past. Far too similar to the magic of my own people, if not frailer." Thor's tone was steady, almost distant. Most likely thinking of his crazier than a bag of cats brother. But Clint was more focused on his words. He had spoken with Strange after the first run in with Ron's teleportation, and Strange had said something similar. Ron's magic wasn't just a hiccup in his genetics, there was something more. A history of magic.

Neither said anything more. Too caught up in their adoptive family.

* * *

Soon July came to the states. Bruce began looking into local schools for Hermione, despite the offer from both Tony and apparently Clint to homeschool her and hire tutors like what SHIELD had done for Ron. Bruce declined and searched for a school. He was looking at Midtown elementary when something bizarre happened.

The Avengers, Pepper, and Ron and Hermione were sitting at Tony's new dining room table enjoying some eggs and bacon, talking about anything and everything, but mainly why Tony shouldn't try to get the two to perform accidental magic on his suits. If anything, they had all learned that magic and technology did not mix well. And before they could convince Tony otherwise, Steve was interrupted mid sentence with a tapping from the window.

"Is that a hawk?" Hermione asked staring at the bird pecking furiously.

"Look, it has red feathers," Ron gasped.

"Red tailed-hawk. Urban hawk. Some live here in New York all year. They don't usually fly high enough to be noticeable in the Helicarrier."

"I think there's something in its' talons," Ron noted walking over to the bird. The bird didn't fly away but shrieked out and continued pecking on the window, "Can we open the window?"

"I don't want that feather brained menace flying around in my tower. One's enough," Tony joked. Clint rolled his eyes.

"Haha Stark. Very funny. But you shouldn't let that bird into the tower Ron. It might have diseases."

Ron didn't seem to be listening in favor of getting a closer look at the bird and, by extension, the letter. Or _letters._

"One of the letters has Mione's name on it." The reaction was immediate as Bruce stood up and made his way to the window.

"It does," he confirmed with wariness and curiousity. Tony, Pepper and Steve walked over in curiousity as Ron returned to sit next to his dad and finish his eggs. Thor laughed at a deafening volume making Ron and Hermione flinch.

"Ah a summons. As backwards as Midgard is, there are still such matching customs. Let in the messenger Man of Iron!"

"I'm not going to let that bird in. Pepper will kill me!" Tony gestured towards Pepper, receiving a slap on the arm.

"Tony," she reprimanded with a sigh. The bird continued pecking at the glass in a rhythmic persistence, "We're going to need to do something about that bird."

"Think I could-" Ron began whispering to his dad.

"Absolutely not. You are not going to even attempt to teleport out there Ron."

"But it's got something for Mione."

No one noticed the quietly stewing young witch who had stopped eating her breakfast, focusing intently on the bird. She wanted to see it closer, to see the letter Ron had been talking about. But she knew better than to leave the table before finishing, and a civilized individual did not rush to finish their meal. But the bird...

Suddenly there was a yelp followed by a horrid draft and the clear screech of a bird. Hermione jumped back as the bird landed in front of her, the window pane, missing in its entirety. The bird landed and pecked at her eggs, taking some of her breakfast. She blinked as Natasha (as she had been told to call her) swiped her arm near the bird scaring it out the window.

"Dammit, gonna need to replace the window again. Please tell me that flying rat didn't molt," Tony complained. Ron and Hermione didn't comment as Ron quickly swiped the four feathers that the bird had left behind. Souvenir. Just like the letters. Natasha picked them up, most likely to see if they were anything dangerous. Once certain they weren't, she handed them to Bruce who paled slightly.

"Damn bird littering in my tower," Tony continued to complain as the draft vanished, "Jarvis, tell me you recorded the glass disappearing."

"Indeed sir, as well as its return."

Sure enough, when Tony looked back, the pane was in the same place it had been before. Despite the bird being in his tower, he was pleased he had more "magic" moments recorded for study.

"Thank you Jarvis. So what's in the letters Brucie?"

Steve and Pepper gave Tony a look. Pepper in exasperation and Steve in almost familiar fondness. Bruce opened the envelope without Hermione's name on it first. Reading over it, he shrugged his shoulders.

"International mailing requirement," Bruce stated, handing the other envelope to Hermione. With little hesitation, she opened the odd, old parchment style letter with wax seal. Pulling the letter out, she began to read aloud.

"Dear Miss Granger, We are pleased to inform you, you have been accepted at Hogwarts school for witchcraft and wizardry..."

 **AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Well now that most of you are going to want to kill me... I swear there will be answers to questions in the future. I promise. But it looks like Hermione has an acceptance letter. This is going to be fun! As for the whole speil I could put on their reactions... Well you'll see. Anyways, as I continue on, I do hope you all will grace me with your opinion on the chapter. It was interesting to write and I am absolutely giddy for what's coming up shortly. EHEHEHEHE. Please review.**


	19. Diagon Al-Shit!

**I have something to say before I begin this chapter, thank you. To all my reviewers that pointed out what I had missed during my editing. You would think I would have noticed but I guess not. So thanks. The chapter has been edited so no more name bumbling confusion... Hopefully. Anyway, on with the story. Oh but before that, the two letters, one was Hermione's letter and the other was from the magical American government to alert Bruce.**

Ron nearly jumped in giddiness looking below at the ocean. The ocean below glistened with the sun dripping from the sky. He had never been in the air outside of a small jet or the Helicarrier before. And while most would find seeing the same things everyday incredibly repetitive, he enjoyed the little quirks of a bird's eye view that changed ever so slightly daily. Traveling by a "traditional" airplane was incredibly new to him, even if not for his father, Bruce and Hermione.

It had been decided over the span of a few days after receiving the letter that Hermione wanted to be in England for her education. Bruce, though still rattled at how quick his cousin had arrived and was now leaving, was happy for her as she expressed her excitement to learn and didn't feel cut off from her home country despite the passing of her parents.

Ron was still a bit disappointed she had decided to go to this Hogwarts place, rather than join him being tutored by Doctor Strange. That in and of itself had been an arguement with his dad, but he won. He'd thank Aunt Tasha again when he returned home for her assistance in the matter.

Still, he had not hesitated on the chance of going with his new friend to one of the magical aspects of Britian. He had yet to see any place magical sans Strange's abode and was curious. That and Neville was magical and lived in Britian... Perhaps they would see one another. Ron's face nearly tore in two with the wild grin on his face. Two friends. _His_ two friends meeting and interacting and having fun. And he would worry less about Hermione, not that he was really worried mind you, with Neville by her side. And with a promise of letters from at least Hermione, he was sure to be entertained by their exploits.

* * *

"Come on mum. You said we could go to Diagon Alley today," Neville egged on. Alice smiled at her son. She ruffled his hair playfully.

"We will have plenty of time Neville. Remember, I told McGonnagal I would be escorting a muggle born this year. So we just need to wait for her to arrive before we can get going." Alice smiled at her son. He was so excited to attend his mother and father's alma mater.

"When will she be here?" Neville asked. Alice ruffled her son's hair.

"She won't be coming here Neville. We will be going to muggle London to meet her. At Big Ben."

"What's her name? Of the girl we're meeting?"

"I thought I told you... Her name is Hermione."

* * *

"Mum, do we really have to go school shopping?" Fred groaned grabbing a worn bag.

"Honestly, Percy still has all his old junk. We just don't see why-"

"-We need to get new things."

"Boys, you still need your potions supplies. And your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher has different books than Percy held onto," Molly began, "And I will not just grab your supplies myself. We will all go out as a family."

"But only the first year is really important to shop for."

"Getting a wand and all."

"Nonsence. We are all going together. There is always something good about going out."

The twins looked at one another.

"Well, there is always Zonkos."

Molly sighed. It was inevitable that they would sneak out to Zonkos even if they went with their mother willingly.

* * *

Ron's face nearly split in two standing at the base of Big Ben. His head whipped around taking everything in. His birth country and technically his mother land. Hermione looked around for her school guide to meet her.

"There must not be a ton of non magically raised children if one child has their own guide," Bruce spoke softly to Clint. Clint snorted and easily quipped back, "Or maybe the magical society here is bigger than you think."

Bruce gave Clint a slightly perplexed look but said nothing more. Ron and Hermione stood talking, Ron asking questions and Hermione trying to explain them up until their guide arrived.

It was a woman and a young boy about Ron and Hermione's age. Ron darted over before they even said hello.

"Neville! Ms. Neville's mom!" Ron called out stopping in front of them. Neville broke out into a modest grin while Alice smiled warmly.

"Hello Ron. What has brought you over the pond to visit?" Alice asked, still glancing around for a frantic young muggle born witch who accepted going to Hogwarts. Ron was quick to respond.

"'Mione got a letter for a school here in Britain," he began before his voice dropped down to a stage whisper, "A magic school. Called Hogwarts."

Alice stared at Ron who was still grinning like mad.

"Really? Are you coming too?" Neville asked with slight excitement in his voice. Ron shook his head much to Neville's disappointment.

"There's a really nice and smart doctor who said he'd teach me. So that's what I'm doing."

"Strange?" Alice asked. Ron snapped his fingers.

"Yep!"

"Ron," a voice interrupted. There stood Ron's father, a man she had only met in an instant, "Saying hi to your friend?"

"Uh huh. Guess what. They're here to guide Hermione!"

"That so? Hey Bruce!" Clint called out over his shoulder getting the attention of the quiet purple shirt wearing man, "Found them!"

Bruce gave a tired smile and guided Hermione over to the group. Ron took it upon himself for the introductions.

"Neville. This is Hermione. 'Mione, this is Neville."

"Hello," Neville greeted putting out his hand. Hermione grasped it and the shook.

"Pleasure."

"Hello sir," Alice said sticking her hand out to shake Bruce's, "I'm Alice Longbottom."

"Ah, Bruce Banner."

"So now what?"

"We go to the Leaky Couldron," Alice stared beginning to walk away from Big Ben.

"The Leaky Couldron?" Bruce asked.

"It is the fastest way to Diagon Alley on foot."

Clint's face became blank. His eyes sparked with something Ron didn't recognize. Still, it didn't stop him from keeping up with the group. The walked around until they were led into a dingy looking pub. It was dark, dank and overall unpleasant. Hermione stood close to Bruce who in turn put a hand on her shoulder. Clint put his arm around Ron's own shoulder while Alice quickly greeted the bar hand Tom followed by walking out the back door to a brick wall.

"A wall?" Bruce questioned. Alice only smiled and pulled out a wand. She tapped a few of the bricks. Ron, Hermione, and Bruce jumped while Clint stiffened. Neville gave a sheepish grin.

"Sorry. Did the wall give you a fright?"

"No," Ron stated quickly, a small pout on his face. It quickly melted away when he saw the alley before him. People in tight quarters bustling about the streets shopping, obviously, for school supplies.

"Now it isn't as busy as it was about two days ago. That's when most of the muggle born students were brought through to get their supplies with Proffessor McGonnagal," Alice explained leading them through the crowd, "Though, we had difficulties getting your address to speak with you personally, you were overseas when Hogwarts sent your letter."

"Well, things happened and I was in America," Hermione stated in a matter of fact tone. Ron shrugged his shoulders when Neville looked at him for answers. They walked toward a large intimidating building near the edge of the hustle and bustle. Stepping inside, everyone sans Neville and his bother stopped in awe of the small wrinkly beings no taller than Hermione's chest.

"Come along. It's rude to stare at the goblins," Alice commented walking swiftly along the marble floor. The group followed quickly, taking in all they could. Hermione and Bruce's eyes seemed to linger on the witches and wizards with their transactions with the goblins, Ron watched the goblins as they walked by with countless treasures he had only read about in fairy tales, and Clint noted any exits that he could in case he needed to get Ron and the others to safety. It was a bit intimidating to be back where he first saved Ron. At least, area wise. Though he wondered, what has going on all those years ago?

"Wow. This place is amazing," Hermione breathed out in awe. Bruce nodded his head slightly, his eyes just as curious as Hermione's. Ron was whipping his head around until they reached the counter, where one goblin sat high above them.

"Pardon me," Alice greeted, "Master Gobin. We have a young muggle born here who will need a monetary transaction."

"Didn't Tony give you the funding you would need?" Clint asked Bruce. Bruce nodded his head pulling out a small bag and a credit card.

"He told me that I shouldn't need to worry about paying for Hermione's education."

"Well, you'll need to exchange. We don't use muggle money."

"Muggle money?" Clint questioned furrowing his brows. Alice pulled out three coins. One small and bronze, another, a pearly silver, and the last appeared to be solid gold.

"Knut," she began pointing at the bronze coin, "Sickle," she heldentenor up the silver coin, "and Galleon," showing the gold coin, "Seventeen sickles per Galleon and twenty nine knots per the sickle."

"That's four hundred ninety three Knut per the galleon," Hermione gasped. Clint and Ron stared at her bewildered as Bruce nodded.

"Odd to be using prime numbers though," Bruce commented. Alice shrugged her shoulders.

"It works though."

* * *

Yawning as he walked out of the ministry, Arthur Weasley made his way over to the Leaky Cauldron to meet his family for lunch. It had been quite a morning so far. Being not only a head of an understaffed department, but also continuing in a cold case was exhausting. Passing by Gringotts he tried to make his way through the hustle and bustle that came with a new school year starting up.

He saw a shock of red hair and made his way over with a grin. He leaned down and kissed his wife on her cheek. She giggled a little before organizing Percy, Fred and George with what supplies they needed to get. Ginny pouted and was complaining how she couldn't go to Hogwarts that year and it was going to be incredibly boring again. Arthur smiled at his children, another year, another hundred letters of this, that and the other thing the boys had gotten into.

* * *

It was the last stop. Neville was giddy with excitement, talking about getting his own wand. He explained how no two were identical, and each one was specially crafted for only one person. Hermione was practically skipping with her books alone, but the wand added an extra spring to her step.

Entering the last shop, the three adults and three children squeezed inside. An older gentleman appeared with wide and kind of creepy eyes.

"Ah, Neville Longbottom. I've been expecting you," he began. He made his way over to a wall filled with shelves from top to bottom covered in thin narrow boxes, "Why it seems only yesterday your mother and father was here getting their first wands. Try this," he said pulling out a box.

Neville walked forward and grabbed the wand from the box ever so gently. He moved his wrist causing a vase to explode. This continued on with either no effect or something going wrong until eleven wands later, golden sparks shot out from the tip of one a little over a foot long, said to be made from unicorn hair and cherry wood. Apparently it was his according to Ollivander. Next was Hermione, she went through about fourteen before she found her match. Smaller than a foot made from Vinewood and dragon heartstrings.

Silver eyes fell onto Ron just before they left, "And aren't you here for you wand?"

Ron looked back at the man Clint tensed but forced himself to relax. Nothing had happened to Neville or Hermione. If Ron wanted to try, what harm could there be?

"Can I give it a go dad?"

"Sure thing Ronnie."

"Dad!" Ron whined, his face flushing red in embarrassment. He quickly turned to hide his pout making his dad laugh.

Ollivander chose a box, allowing Ron to take the wand inside. Ron gingerly lifted the wand and gave it a flick, boxes flew off the shelf rapidly. He jumped in surprise as he placed the wand down. More wands were carefully selected for Ron to try, all the while, in a castle not too terribly far away, an enchanted quill began to write.

The enchanted quill had only one job, to write letters to children who had their first bout of accidental magic within Western Europe. Mainly, Britian. This quill worked shielded inside the thick stone walls of Hogwarts in front of the Deputy Headmistress, Minerva McGonnagal. She took a glance at the letter, absently wondering if it was another muggle born student or half blood considering the slow decline of pureblood children. Her eyes widened when she saw the name.

She summoned her patronus, a small cat to alert Dumbledore and the ministry. Ronald Billius Weasley was alive.

* * *

Everyone left Ollivanders quickly once Ron had actually found a match. A bit longer than Neville's made of Willow and Unicorn hair.

"Well that's everything," Alice sighed, "Unless you're interested in owls?"

"Oh no. Not with living overseas. Perhaps next year," Bruce quickly rushed out.

"Cousin Bruce? May we go back to Flourish and Botts? There were a few more books I wanted to look at," Hermione pleaded. Bruce gave a sheepish smile.

"Um... Let's meet back here in an hour?"

Clint nodded.

"Sure, Ron and I wanted to check out this Zonko place and see if it was any good. C'mon Ron."

Clint and Ron raced into the gag store, practically mesmerized by all the possibilities of prank items. Ron ran to the back of the store and Clint chuckled, allowing him a few minutes to explore on his own. Ron carefully picked up different merchandise, his eyes trying to dissect the toys and pranks for later when he bumped into someone.

"Sorry," he said quickly. He stared a little longer than what was polite. The man he bumped into was an older man with scraggly gray hair and a moving glass eye that seemed to stare into his soul. Kind of creepy really.

The man snorted, "Constant Vigilance brat." Ron gave a small glare before darting back toward his dad. Clint smirked as Ron jumped to his side and looked over at some wizard poppers. He and Clint grabbed about ten of them and walked towards the cashier.

"See anything else you want to get Ron?"

Ron shook his head, "I'm all good. Think these would scare Uncle Nick?"

"Probably not."

"We're still gonna try right?"

"Nope."

Ron pouted looking at his grinning dad.

"We're going to make Tony do it."

Ron grinned back at his dad.

"Cool!"

While Clint and Ron were planning their use of wizard poppers a small tawny owl flew into the store, landing on a shelf by Ron. It hooted making Ron jump.

"Dad, it's an owl," he said softly staring at the bird. Clint looked over and noticed the letter in it's talons. Clint stood on his toes and called over to the cashier, "Hey! I think you have some mail."

A young man with crooked teeth left the counter and walked over to the bird. With practiced movements and slightly scarred fingers, he took the letter from the bird but didn't open it. He stared at the front of the cover for a long while. Clint noticed that the letter had the same stamp that had appeared on Hermione's letter. The man froze after rereading the letter. His eyes drifted over to another aisle quickly before looking at Ron. Clint narrowed his eyes at the man. He didn't like the way he was looking at his son. He nudged Ron a little closer to his side. Ron easily complied, glancing around the store. One good thing about being raised by government agents, he could easily read when a situation could get hairy.

The man opened his mouth and called out to everyone in the store.

"Ron? Is there a Ron Weasley, in the store? Ron Weasley? An owl has delivered a letter for a Mr. Ron Weasley."

Not one person called out to the name. But there was a step and creak. Almost like a man with a prosthetic leg not matched with his other leg. Ron gasped and grabbed his dad's shirt. Clint didn't entirely blame him. While Ron had been raised above the sky and had met many different kinds of people and agents, powered, or amputees, but none quite like the angry faced man with odd glass eye.

"Did you say Ron Weasley?" The man grunted. The cashier showed the short man the letter. The glass eye seemed to jump around the letter before focusing on Ron. His good eye narrowed. Quick as a whip, the man pulled out a sti-wand and cried out, "Petrificus Totalus!"

Clint reacted just as fast ducking down and grabbing Ron, throwing him into a fireman's carry. Ron didn't fight it pulling full trust in his father. Clint then bolted out of the building as more shots of light were fired out at him. He darted through the crowd of people, grabbing a loose cloak from the from of a store and wrapped it around himself, placing Ron on the ground in front of him. He stood next to a stand and stared at small black beetles feet placed together hiding Ron's from people passing by. Ron pressed his face directly into Clint's chest.

Clint was pretty sure Ron had closed his eyes and was thinking about being back on the airship. Back with Natasha, Nick, Fitzsimmons and even Phil, and when things were just simpler. Clint forced his body to stay relaxed as people ran by hollering about catching a kidnapper. Clint moved a hand out and touched a few of the beetles. Slowly dropping the few beetles in his hand. He began to walk away from the running magical bobbies running around. Ron moved his legs with his dad to keep an equal pace.

Clint looked around for Bruce and Hermione to get out of the maddening situation. He could apologize to Alice and Neville later when he and Ron weren't being attacked.

Clint felt like cursing for not bringing his arrows. At least then he'd have a better chance at fighting back. But for now, it was escape that he needed.

"Clint? What are you-? Why are you dressed like that?" Bruce asked, appearing out of a shop making Clint jump.

"Nothing. How did you- Nevermind. Look Bruce we have got to go!"

Bruce sighed, "Let me go grab Hermione and we'll get back to our hotel."

"Thanks Bruce." Clint smiled gratefully. Bruce walked back inside the store to get Hermione while Clint and Ron waited. It wasn't too long before a man rushed into them, making Clint fall onto the ground taking Ron with him.

"Oh! Ah, terribly sorry sir," a polite and apologetic voice quickly murmured. Clint groaned and got to his feet, pulling Ron up with him.

"It's alright, things happen," Clint commented quietly, the hood of the cloak barely hanging on his head. Ron, recovering from being disoriented peeked out from inside the cloak for a moment, catching the eye of an older man with red hair. The man stared at him for a moment, but before he could say anything more shots, or well, spells were fired. Clint picked up Ron again and bolted past the red haired man, his hood falling off.

"Stop that man!"

The red haired man grabbed the arm of one of the running men.

"What is going on?" he asked rather perplexed. The man stared at him for a moment.

"That man- There was a letter delivered to the shop they were in- and we think it's for the boy-"

"What are you talking about? All this for a letter?"

"Addressed to Ron _Weasley,_ Arthur," a new voice butted in. Mad-eye Moody. But that wasn't what chilled Arthur's bones. Ron. That little boy... Was his son?

"We have them!"

Sure enough, Arthur broke from his stupor to see to knocked out individuals, one was the man he bumped into and obviously his son's kidnapper, carried by two aurors with his arms restrained and feet dragging. The other was carried gently in the arms of another, his eyes closed in a peaceful manner. Arthur's eyes filled with tears as he looked at the boy. Good heavens he had Molly's mouth and his nose. He had Fred and George's curls. He was tall for his age so much like Charlie had been. His brows even looked like Bill's. How had he not noticed?

He walked over to the auror holding his son, "Please. Is it-? May I?"

"We're pretty sure it's him. The other children in the store were too young to be him. And unfortunately no. We need to get him to the ministry and ask him some questions."

"My son is not a criminal. He needs to be home with his family."

"Arthur," Moody grunted, "The boy doesn't know you. It's best to reintroduce you to him in a controlled environment."

"Well. If that's how it is... I better go tell Molly," he said walking towards the sleeping Ron. He brushed his bangs from his forehead and gave a small kiss to his temple. He whispered softly to the child, "I'll be back Ron. Promise."

With that the two parted, the aurors to the ministry, and Arthur to the Leaky Couldron to catch his wife and family. If they had stayed any longer, they would have had trouble from a purple shirt wearing man and his muggle born Ward who had finally left the store and we're now searching for Clint and Ron.

 **This has been a pain in the ass to write. But enjoyable... Somewhat. Oh jeez. I hope you guys are happy and don't hate me. Ron and Clint are taken in by the ministry. Arthur knows and is rushing to tell the family so they can all see a child who will have little to no idea who they are. EHEHEHEHE. Oh wow. This has been a week in the making and editing. But in the end, this is what I'm going with.**

 **Please review.**


	20. Meeting famiaial strangers

Ron groaned feeling mentally drained. His head was pounding and the wood under it felt warm. Wait. Wood?

He slowly opened his eyes to see a poorly lit room with an old dirty lamp as the only light source. His head jumped off the table and shot around the room. He put his hand on the back of the chair and turned half of his body around. His face contorted in fear and nervousness. His breath grew slightly more shallow, leading to an unfortunate sneeze brought on by presumably dust.

Was he kidnapped again? It may have only happened once before but it seemed oddly similar to when he was seven and somebody had mistaken him for a homeless child and tried to sell him to a pimp. That man had many broken limbs after that incident. And a broken nose. Just broken overall.

He relaxed back into the chair, he wasn't tied up so that was a plus, and began tapping his fingers on the table trying to ease the tension he had building within. He didn't know how long he waited, or long he had been there previously when he had been knocked out, but the lone door did open with a tall African man walked through the door. Ron raised a lone brow noting similarities between him and his Uncle Nick.

Tall, intimidating, seemingly knowledgeable, and oozing of power and control. A man any sane person wouldn't want to mess with, but wouldn't do anything too terrible without reason.

"Hello child," the man greeted warmly sitting across from Ron. Ron gave a mild look over.

"Sir," Ron answered in a clipped tone.

"I am Kingsley Shacklebolt," he introduced. Ron blinked with surprise. Why was it that tall African men he knew had cool names? Ron hardened his face to what he hoped was a stony apathy he had seen thousands of times before from his Aunt Tasha.

"Shacklebolt? What kind of name is that?" Ron questioned.

"My father's and his father's before him," Kingsley stated with an abnormally warm tone to Ron's clipped and less pleasant tone. Ron looked away from the tall man. His eyes darted around the room. One door, and an uncomfortably small but possibly workable vent. The only means of escape.

When Ron didn't say anything, Kingsley continued, "I am sure you are wondering why you are here."

Ron's eyes locked on his in the most intimidating glare he could muster.

"It crossed my mind," he answered vaguely, doing his best to mirror a few of Uncle Phil's round about vague answers. Kingsley's lips twitched downward, obviously he was not expecting that. It probably made him think bad things about how Ron was raised.

There was a moment of silence allowing Ron to collect his thoughts. He and his dad were attacked. Given where he was, he had been caught. But his dad was knocked out before he was with a blow to the back of the head by an reanimated statue. Ron's hand clenched into a fist. Was his dad alright? It was a severe blow and it did knock him out.

"Where's my dad?" Ron asked impulsively. Though raised by SHIELD, there was no mistaking him as not being a child. Kingsley sighed.

"Am I right to assume you mean the man you were with in the alley?"

Ron stiffened, goosebumps prickled down his arms, and he bit the inside of his mouth. It took a moment but he did respond.

"Who else?" Ron finally responded.

"Just confirming," he stated. The man looked concerned, and a bit pained. But also, hopeful?

"What is there to confirm? I was there with him. We were shopping and looking around when we attacked. By you I assume," Ron quipped, "And where's my dad? Is he okay?"

"He is fine," Kingsley lied. Ron just stared. He didn't believe the man, but he desperately wanted to. And needed to in order to get more information. He held onto Kingsley's words in desperation.

"So when can I see him?"

"In due time. Now Ron, there is something I need to tell you."

 _'I found you in Britain,'_ he recalled his dad tell him. Ron did not like the sound of that.

"That man is not your father."

"That's a lie!" Ron snapped, jumped up from his seat, rage flickering in his eyes. No matter how often he heard this from ignorant agents, it still upset him that they would say they weren't family.

Kingsley let Ron cool down a little before continuing to speak, knowing his words would fall on deaf ears otherwise. Ron slid back down in the chair and spoke before Kingsley could.

"He took care of me, fed me, played with me, taught me things. He loves me. How could he be anything but my dad?" he ranted, tears starting to pool in his eyes as memories flooded his mind from transforming gloves to pillows, to reading bedtime stories, to pranking the newer agents and even his half assed attempt at teaching him history.

"Ron, ten years ago, we were going through dark times," Kingsley began, "We were in the middle of war, between our society and a group of individuals known as Death Eaters."

"What does this have to do with anything?" Ron interrupted.

"Near the end of the war, there was a kidnapping of a young child. His name was Ron Weasley."

Ron swallowed nervously. Oh he did not like where this was going.

"He was about a year and a half, just starting to talk. He had red hair and bright blue eyes," Kingsley continued while Ron inwardly cursed his own blue eyes, "We had believed he was taken by Death Eaters, we had found one dead where the child's trail had gone cold."

Ron wasn't naive. His father had said before that he had killed to protect Ron back when Ron asked a year ago.

"And yet, here you are now."

"You can't be sure I'm him. There are many people named Ron. I'm sure a few of them have red hair and blue eyes too. And how would you even know if he still goes by Ron or even if he's alive?" Ron tried desperately. Kingsley pulled out a sheet of parchment.

"This is the results of an ancestry test performed by a mediwitch at St Mungos. We took a strand of your hair as well as a strand from Mr. And Mrs. Weasley and performed a simple spell to see if you were in fact Ron Weasley."

Ron's face contorted from fear and anguish. Without even reading, he was sure he wouldn't be told this if he wasn't this missing Weasley kid. Tears began to spill from his eyes as he took a deep breath.

"That's illegal," he breathed out. His mind focusing on escape, legally and illegally. Kingsley raised a brow and Rin began to explain, " You took my sample without my permission... And that's illegal. I didn't discard a sample, you took it. That's illegal."

"So is kidnapping."

Ron was to focused on breathing to refute. A knock on the door garnered Ron's attention. Kingsley stood from his seat and walked to the door. He opened it slightly and stepped out. Once the door clicked shut, he got out of the chair and made his way to the vent. He grumbled through blurry tear filled vision how hard it was to find the screws. To his irritation, there were none. It was sticking there with magic. And he had no idea how to get it off. He sighed and slid to the floor, his head against the grimy wall.

Tears flowed freely from his eyes as the spattered on the floor, soon to dry away. He didn't know how long he sat there, but his legs began to cramp so he stood up and paced. He needed to escape. Before he could make any plans however, Kingsley returned.

"Ron, there are some people here to see you," he said in a soft and encouraging voice. Ron's blood turned cold. What should have been so reassuring was fear invoking to Ron. This man obviously didn't mean his family. The ones who had been there for him since before he knew he was a magic hell raiser.

"No. Please. I'm not," he jumped from his seat and stood behind the chair with wide eyes as a man and woman stepped inside the room. The woman was short, plump and had wild reddish brown hair. Her face had already begun to show age with crows feet by her eyes. Her clothes seemed bulky and slightly worn. Her eyes were wide, and sparking with hope and joy, tears seemed to pool there as she seemed unable to move. The other... Was the man who had bumped into him and his dad when they were hiding in the cloak. He was tall, thin, just as worn out with a long brown coat.

Ron nearly jumped when the woman approached. He had nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. His stomach churned violently as she approached. She smelled like vanilla, as she grew close the smell grew stronger. She reached out a hand and gently cupped his cheek in her hand, almost entirely ignoring how uncomfortable Ron was. Ron wasn't ready for the arms that encompassed his tightly and stiffened at the contact from the odd woman, who Ron assumed, was actually his biological mother.

"Oh Ron," she whispered with a shaky voice. The man walked up and smiled softly as Molly pulled away, keeping both hands firmly on his shoulders.

"Ma'am," Ron responded. The woman's face seemed to break from love to heartbreak. The man placed one of his hands on her shoulder.

"It's alright Molly. Ron just doesn't remember."

Molly. His mother's name was Molly.

"Arthur... No you're right. Ron, I'm your mum," she explained with a warm voice. Ron nodded slightly. He had never had a mum before. Just his dad, aunts and uncles. And by all intents and purposes, she was his biological mother, "And this is your dad."

"I already have one thanks," he stated, making the flurry of emotions even stronger.

"That man. The one who took you from us. Is that what he told you?" Molly questioned with a fierce intensity Ron had only truly seen from mothers with multiple children. Any answer would be wrong. Yes meant they would think his dad brain washed him. No would make them believe he had Stockholm syndrome. Since either way he'd lose, he went with the truth.

"I wanted to call him dad. He is my dad."

 **Well... I may have just made things more complicated for Ron. But isn't this fun? Many of you wanted a new chapter fast, so this one only has the one spot point of view. Where is Clint? Where is Bruce and Hermione? Where are the Longbottom's? Where are the Weasley siblings?**

 **All this and more should be revealed at a later time. Thanks again for reading and I do hope you all leave a review.**


	21. Welcome to the ministry

Clint opened his eyes slightly. God he was uncomfortable. Sitting in an outdated and horribly worn wooden chair, his ankles and wrists strapped to the slightly splintering wood... Poor quality really but would hurt like a bitch if snapped wrong... And in a damp and moldly smelling room.

A real piss poor quality location. And even worse for holding him. He faked a groan pretending just to wake up. Lifting his lids slowly, he took in the room. Dark, dank, and with creepy glass eye staring at him like he had grown a second head, pooped a rainbow and killed his kitten. Or something like that. Partially amused and curious with his eyes, but cruel and unforgiving with his face. What warm fellow.

Kind of like a bastard mix of Nick Fury and Deadpool. Maybe a hint of Loki if the guy was magic. Wait, what was he thinking? His head felt like it had been in a blender. He inwardly cursed and hoped he didn't have a concussion. Ron didn't like it when- Ron!

They were attacked, he was knocked out and someone grabbed him. Clint scowled at the magic man before him. He now remembered, this man had started the insanity. He was the one who fired magic on them in the joke shop. All over a stupid letter. Whoever this guy was, he was an ass.

"Finally awake and aware are you?" the man grunted. Clint fidgeted in his seat, fake trying to escape and all. In reality, he had pressed a small device in his pocket that sent out an emergency beacon to SHIELD, alerting them that something had gone horribly wrong in their supposedly save venture to Europe.

"Mind explaining why you tied me up Gov'nah?" Clint questioned in an annoyed and obviously fake British accent, "It's a might bit unpleasant."

"I'll be asking the questions," the man growled. His glass eye locked onto Clint, "You're non magical aren't you?"

Clint gave him a look.

"Maybe," Clint stated, "Who wants to know?"

"You won't be asking the questions. I will. And you best be answering. I'm not afraid of using Vertisserum on a muggle."

Muggle. Non magical person. At least that was what Fury had told him. Now what was the law thingy Fury had told him in case something shitty like this happened?

Oh yeah. He was from overseas. Never hurt to over complicated things and make it more difficult for these government employees.

"You can't do that. I'm not her royal highness's citizen," Clint snarked.

"That so," the man didn't seem pleased. He stood from his seat and stalked over next to Clint. His crazy glass eye tracing up and down his arm. He grasped his forearm, squeezing it tightly for a moment. Clint didn't make any reaction. That was probably what the guy wanted anyway. Apparently so as the man's face turned darker. He muttered something under his breath. Something about a squid? Clint hoped he would say more so he could find out if he was going to be tossed to some crazy water creature with a beak and, in his own hubble opinion, way too many legs.

The man left grumbling a few choice words Clint couldn't quite decipher. Clint merely smirked. Dumb guy. With practiced motions he broke the straps and the wood they were attached to, hissing quietly at the few splinters that had imbedded themselves into his skin. He stood up from the chair and silently made his way over the room's airvent. He rolled his eyes at how idiotic these wizards were. He searched for screws to remove to make a silent escape. He groaned seeing none. Oh well. Only one thing to do.

He kicked the metal. Wow it was some cheap stuff. The corner was already loose. What the hell did they use to keep it there? Chewing gum? Amateurs. With another swift kick he knocked the cover off. In a fluid motion he slid into the vent, pulling the broken grate over his escape path, and made his way through the building. Knock him out and take his son will they? Oh they had another thing coming.

* * *

"Unbelievable," Bruce sighed collapsing into one of the chairs at the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione looked distraught and was ripping through her books for a finding or locating spell or something as Alice and Neville searched for the missing archer and his ever curious son. He sipped his tea in an effort to remain calm. The last thing he needed was to Hulk out when nothing was Hulk out in general. There were so many children here it was terrifying.

"No. No that's not it. Come on, there has to be something here," Hermione pleaded, "Only works on inanimate objects... Why is there no spell to locate a person?"

Bruce nodded. How useful would that be. He placed his hand on her shoulder, and gave a warm smile.

"I'm sure they are fine Hermione. Clint is a very smart man and he won't let anything hurt him or Ron."

Hermione's eyes fell in disappointment, obviously wanting to help. Bruce placed a hand under Hermione's chin and lifted her gaze to his.

"They are fine. I'll bet you they just got distracted by one of the toys or the... Brooms."

Hermione giggled at the thought, obviously feeling better.

"Why don't we let Alice and Neville know we're going back to the hotel for the night in case Clint and Ron make their way back? There's no use staying up all night and getting tired."

Hermione was about to refute when she let out a large yawn. Bruce gave an amused smirk when Hermione blushed.

"Okay. Perhaps they are already at the room. Ron is a bit of a scatterbrain."

Bruce chuckled as he stood up, holding Hermione by his side so she could rest her head on his shoulder. It was then Alice had stepped inside, Neville not with her.

"Ah, Alice," Bruce called out softly. Alice gave a tired grin and walked over.

"No luck?" He asked even softer. She shook her head.

"I'm about ready to head to the ministry to report them missing. I'm guessing you two are going to your room to rest?"

"Hermione is very tired. Speaking of tired, where's Neville? You didn't leave him at home did you?"

"Alone? Goodness no. With how stressed he is about Ron missing, I was afraid his magic might have lashed out and possibly hurt him. He's with his grandmother."

"Ah. Well, we better be heading to bed. Goodnight Alice," Bruce said leaving with Hermione.

Alice nodded, "Goodnight."

Alice walked over to the bar and ordered a bottle of fire whiskey from Tom. She'd need it later when they found Ron and Clint. With great purpose and a quick pace, she made her way to the nearly emptied ministry complex. Her footfalls were quick, her wand at the ready in case any of the less than sane witches and wizards attempting to take limbs or lives. The lanterns were being lit one by one with flickering lights of magic.

Her breath was shallower with her quickened pace. She slowed down as she stepped inside the entry of the ministry, her foot fall clicking on the marble floors. She walked over calmer, and slowing her breath as she walked deeper into the bowels of the ministry. If anyone could find the missing father and son, it was Mad Eye Moody. His record only had one open case. Ronald Billius Weasley. Heaven forbid that case close before they find him or Moody would quit and continue his own more than likely illegal search. He never let anything go.

She searched the halls unsuccessfully finding the dour man. Instead, she heard a click of a door right behind her. She glanced back and relief spread through her. Walking out of the room was-

"Ron!"

Ron looked up bewildered at the familiar voice. His head whipped around and he looked into Alice's eyes. A grin blossomed on his face that faltered when a hand grasped his shoulder. Alice frowned. That wasn't Ron's father. No it was-

"Molly?"

"Alice!" Molly cried out with joy. Her face tear stained and her eyes red from her tears. Her lips were curled into a watery smile. Ron's face contorted into confusion and fear, before settling on a stewing anger. He sent a weak glare to Alice, as if accusing her of something.

He was pushed closer by Molly allowing both Arthur and Kingsley to walk out of the room. Ron gave Alice a slightly pleading look. He seemed to be tired. Incredibly drained. Of course he would be after flying from America and trying to get used to the sleeping patterns, but this seemed to be more emotional.

"I haven't seen you in months," Molly continued breaking Alice from her examination of Ron.

"Nor I you," Alice added. Ron began to fidget looking incredibly uncomfortable. The whiplash of emotion was clearly tiring. Arthur walked up next to Molly and draped one arm over her shoulder, and placed his other hand on Ron's in what would have been a soothing gesture from one relative to another. But they weren't... Oh. Oh no. Please Merlin no. She had seen how happy and loving Ron and his father were to one another. The concern when in America, the thrills in Diagon Alley... As much as she loathed thinking this for her dear friend Molly, she hoped that Ron wasn't their Ron.

However, seeing the joyous and relieved, warm loving faces from Molly and Arthur, the slight satisfaction on Kingsley tinged with worry, and the overall feeling of loathing from Ron told her otherwise.

* * *

Fred and George scurried around the attic with great fervor and glee. Chores that were usually boring and unappealing were filled with excitement. Making a bed, dusting the room. Washing the floors. All of it. Even their princess of a younger sister had gathered some of her favorite books and placed them on a small shelf for him to use.

Percy however was being a bore, sitting in the dining room awaiting their parents arrival, along with their wayward brother. Yes. They had heard. The hushed whispers, the excited tone. Their mother crying out, "WHERE IS HE?" And the rushed offhanded mention from their dad that the attic was going to need some dusting.

They had heard that Ron had been found in Diagon Alley. The twins almost loathed how they had been their and hadn't seen him. They couldn't conceive the motion that they wouldn't recognize him. Even with so many years apart, he was still their brother.

As the twins eagerly prepared, Ginny had gone downstairs to see Percy furiously writing letters. Two of them.

"Who are you writing too?" she asked, a bit surprised that he would be writing now of all times.

"Bill and Charlie."

 **Ehehehehehehehehehe. Next chapter. Well... This is going to be fun. Really looking forward to the next one. Anyway... We've seen what everyone is doing. Clint's in the vents so chaos may be expected. Regardless... Review!**


	22. In an instant

Alice didn't know what to say. Ron was looking incredibly nervous and a touch flushed as Molly and Arthur seemed to hold him close, only just shy of coddling him and never letting him out of their sight. Ron's blue eyes sent both a pleading and accusing message to her. She knew Molly and Arthur and Ron just learned that they knew one another. This wasn't going to be easy. She needed time to try and figure out what to do. Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard a low growling noise. She glanced around until her eyes fell back on a blushing Ron.

His blue eyes fell towards the ground and his ears blended in with his hair.

"Oh! That's alright Ron. We have dinner waiting-Oh! Arthur, could you pick up a few things? I don't know if we'll have enough," Molly began rambling.

"Of course dear," Arthur stated sounding a bit dejected, not wanting to leave his once wayward son, but knowing there was no arguing with his wife. Especially with hungry children to feed. Ron looked fearful. His eyes widened pleadingly at Alice, his lower lip between his teeth nervously.

Kingsley was watching the interaction with content, more than pleased that Ron had been returned to Arthur and Molly.

* * *

Nick wasn't pleased. He was down right furious. His one eye glared at the computer screen before him. Apparently England wasn't a safe place for Clint and Ron, or perhaps Bruce and Hermione. Either way, he could count on one hand the number of times Clint had used his homing signal. It was heads or tails being a good thing or a bad thing. But he still had all his limbs and wasn't dead yet so... That was a positive.

But the fact that he sent the signal was bad. Even worse now that Stark had taken the initiative to hack into SHIELD documents and had the homing signal activate. The last thing he needed was an impulsive Stark messing with diplomatic British delegates who could assist in getting Clint out of whatever situation he had gotten himself into.

He could only jump into his plane and make his way towards magical Britian. His gun loaded and Agent Romanoff meeting him there as backup. Hopefully with Stark still in America...

* * *

Bruce sighed as Hermione had finally fallen asleep. Ron and Clint were still unaccounted for and even he was worried. He could feel his body tense, in awe there was a need for the other guy to come out. It was about ten now. He debated calling back to SHIELD as it was one of their agents, but he didn't trust SHEILD as far as he could throw them.

He hadn't messaged Tony or the other "Avengers" either. He didn't really know them outside of battling Loki and the more recent living conditions of dealing with Tony. And he didn't exactly have Clint's best "partner" Black Widow's phone number.

Not that it would have mattered. His cell phone had started acting up ever since he had stepped foot into the Leaky Couldron and still seemed a touch glitchy since they had left the magical community. Or maybe that was just him. He had been out of touch with technology for a while and while he understood the lab tech, basic daily tech was just becoming more and more ... It couldn't be all that bad right? Perhaps they were just distracted by being in Britain, after all, he had heard that Ron was born in Britian. Perhaps back to the place where he had first found him?

Then again, what did he know. He sighed and sat down on his bed and slipped under the covers. His stress simmering beneath the surface as he smothered the Hulk deep within, keeping him locked away for another night.

* * *

Tony sipped his whiskey with little interest and boredom. His eyes slightly glazed with alcohol and a lack of interaction. With Steve gone exploring the country side, Thor up bothering whoever in Asgard, Tasha being a secret agent for the pirate in the sky, and Brucie and Bird-brain were in Britain with their little unexplained scientific miracles. He refused to think of them as magic. So called "magic" was just unexplained science.

Not that he could explain it yet, but to get the information for the explanation, he would need a test subject. And despite the crazy eccentricities, he wasn't suicidal. He wouldn't survive if he did anything for the sake of science to the kids. That didn't stop him from having JARVIS recording them since he discovered their abilities, watching for anomalies. He had no real de facto reason for magic yet. But he was really hoping that he would figure it out over the years. Given he would need to compare Ron and Hermione when they were both there-

"Sir, the files you requested have been downloaded."

"Bring them up Jarvis. Anything interesting from Ol' one eye?" Tony asked, a smirk playing on his lips as he stood from his chair, making his way over to his holo-based computer. The most recent files up in the front of the page and screen. Tony raised a lone brow seeing a red rimmed file, less than an hour old.

With the curiousity of Stark, he opened the file. His eyes glanced over, hardening almost instantly. His jaw set slightly cocked and clenched.

"Jarvis, ticket to England. ASAP. And get my suit ready," he growled out walking quickly to the elevator. He could get clothes and other nessecities while he was across the pond. He had a bird brain and others to possibly save.

Legalus was going to owe him big time. And so was Fury for that matter for saving his goddamn agent. Needing a homing beacon. What kind of organization was Robin Hood working for?

* * *

Clint cursed inwardly as he shimmied through the vents, listening for anything that could aid him in finding Ron. Contrary to Natasha's sarcastic comments, he wasn't an idiot. He knew that if he was going to learn where Ron had been taken after he was knocked out, he would have to stay longer than he would like. No worries though, despite the bad signal with a cell phone, he had been able to use his homing beacon. All he needed was to slip himself and Ron out of the country for a little bit while things died down.

Because that's what Ron would want. He knew it sounded silly but it was the truth. Ever since Ron had learned of the circumstances of being in his dad's care, he had been quite adamant of staying with Clint. He rarely talked about wanting to know his birth mother or father. He had been more focused on trying to steal his bow, saying he wanted to be just like his dad. Even over the years the conviction he stated it in never wavered. His eyes never growing sadder, and his smile never grew smaller.

And he still called Clint dad. With a spark of determination coursing through his veins, Clint continued his venture through the metal tunnels toward anything that could lead him back to Ron.

* * *

Natasha stepped aboard the ship with Fury's orders. Her face cold and hard. Her eyes sparked with intense and angered lightning. Clint was compromised. And he wasn't even on a mission. How badly had he messed up to need his homing beacon? Regardless, she was going to Europe to save his and possibly Ron, Bruce and Hermione's sorry behinds.

Her hands tightened momentarily into fists. So help the sorry bastards that targeted the few individuals she actually gave a damn about, they would not escape her wrath. Even if Clint accidentally set it off like he did only once before.

There would be no pillow gloves to save him if that was the case.

* * *

Everything seemed to be moving too fast for Ron, and yet not fast enough. He wanted his dad but his body was demanding nourishment and sleep. Still, he didn't want to leave the "ministry". It was where he had woken up, and he knew that they probably knew where his dad was. That, and Neville's mom was there. The one familiar and somewhat comforting face he had seen since waking up into this nightmare dressed as a dream. Arthur, the man who declared himself to be his father, was about to leave him with Molly, his so called mother, was about to change his course even more when he was "asked" to go get some ingredients. Ron didn't mind. He could physically escape one person with less planning than two. That is, if Alice wouldn't hinder him and this Kingsley fellow would go away.

Ron wasn't so lucky as he heard the telltale click clack of heeled shoes quickly making their way down the hall. Ron inwardly whined, not recognizing the footfall cadence that the person was using. Most likely, not an ally of his. He wasn't wrong as a woman appeared from around the corner followed by a downtrodden man. The man was easily forgettable with his dark blend in clothes, slightly round beer gut of a belly, and seemingly grayed out face. If anything caught Ron's attention with this man was the horribly large camera that looked straight out of the early twentieth, or perhaps late nineteenth century. The woman on the other hand... Was just plain gaudy.

She was confident. A little smug just in general if her smirk was any indication. While attractive on some, he had heard different agents say, she just made his skin crawl. From her insanely curly blonde hair that nearly rivaled his Aunt Tasha's preferred style, to her rhinestone dazzled glasses, and even more surprising was a bright green outfit she was wearing.. It was leather. If that green leather didn't make Ron want to gag nothing would.

It also didn't help that she had narrowed her eyes on him. Whoever this woman was, Ron didn't think he would like her. Actually, nobody seemed all too pleased to see her.

"Ms. Skeeter," Shacklebolt curtly greeted with a slight cover to a new found irritation. The woman's smile broke out into a wicked grin revealing a few gold teeth between pearly whites. How unpleasant.

"Kingsley darling," she began with an exaggerated welcoming tone, "I have heard the most _wonderful_ news and had to confirm it for myself."

She seemed entirely to cheery as she pulled out a crocodile (or was it alligator?) skinned bag and pulled out a pad of paper and a quill. Ron's eyes widened seeing such blatant magic as the paper and pen floated. Almost as if-

"So this is the infamous missing Ron Weasley. Ten aren't you?" she questioned. Ron wasn't given a chance to answer as Molly jumped in, her face hot with fury.

"He's eleven," Molly growled. Ms. Skeeter seemed to take no mind to the verbal cue of making Molly uncomfortable. In fact, she seemed to thrive. Ron looked behind Ms. Skeeter and saw the man setting up the camera. He missed Ms. Skeeter's next question as he watched the man set up the pain in the butt camera in about a minute.

"Ready Rita," the man grunted. Rita flashed a grin and stepped over to Arthur, and had the nerve to position him- no the whole trio of red heads! Ron was sandwiched between Arthur and Molly, yet not hidden from the camera for what was supposed to be a wholesome and warm family shot.

Ron stared at Rita, then Alice, and finally the cold metal of the flash mechanism. Time seemed to still as the man was about to take the picture.

The lanterns lighting the hall went out. Bulbs exploded and candles blown out as a white flash over came them. There was a thud from over near the wall. Ron felt strong arms wrap around his waist and pull hard out of the two elder red head's grasp. He could feel wind on his face as he was maneuvered over a familiar shoulder. Normally one he would request to put him down, he held onto the back of the shirt.

"Hey dad," Ron laughed softly.

"Hey little magician," Clint laughed back turning a corner. Clint took another sharp turn trying to find a way out without running into anyone within the labyrinth. Ron had so much he want to say. But held his tongue to not distract his dad. He could ask later when they had escaped magical Britain. Perhaps with Aunt Tasha around. He knew his dad liked to skip the really interesting stuff when he wasn't with her.

But there was one thing he wanted to know, "Regret not bringing your arrows with you now?"

Ron bet his dad was smirking as they turned another tight corner, seemingly going in circles.

"You smug little gremlin," Clint chortled, slowing to a stop taking Ron off his shoulder. He pulled Ron close to his chest as they pressed against the wall. Ron closed his eyes in relief and annoyance he took in the soft gentle and almost nonexistent scent of gun powder, oak wood, spearmint from his mint pocket over his breast, and chocolate on his breath. He opened his eyes when a thundering stampede of feet passing by the hall with what seemed to be wands at the ready. Younger than the old man with the crazy eye, almost as though they were new recruits. Ron looked up at Clint and grinned.

"We get to leave now?" Ron whispered. Clint nodded. With stealth of a well trained spy, Clint led Ron down the hall in the opposite direction of the crowd. The halls grew shorter when Ron whispered again, "Do you know how to get out?"

"Hush Ron. I know, but you have to be quiet."

Ron nodded, keeping a brisk pace with his dad's hand pressing on his back. Goosebumps trailing down his arms by a slight stony chill and fear of being separated from his dad once more. But at least he'd be out shortly. He could see the exit, just about fifty yards away. Ron impulsively picked up his speed his footfalls, becoming louder. Clint's face contorted into worry as he caught up to his son. Any noise, the slightest of sounds-!

A symphony of pops crackled in their ears all around them. Ron jumped back into Clint's chest. Clint wrapped his arms around Ron keeping him close as he looked around at the individuals wielding wands. Ron gasped as Kingsley Shacklebolt walked forward from the circle. His eyes staring directly at Clint and Ron. He chose to focus on Clint.

"You caused quite a blackout. And a scare," Kingsley stated, his eyes hardened as he drew out his own wand. With a swish and a flick, along with softly muttered words, Ron felt himself being yanked away from his dad and into a stranger's waiting arms.

"Wotcher kid. You alright?" the stranger asked. Ron didn't reply, not even really taking in her appearance as he tried to break free and run back to his dad. But her grip was tight, and Ron was physically and emotionally drained. Tears began to pool in his eyes when the magical individuals used their magic on Clint. He didn't cry out. He didn't scream. He only mouthed, "Ron, I love you."

Tears spilled over his cheeks. He always said that before he left to go on a mission. One he might not return from.

Ron prided himself on being strong. Growing up surrounded by the strongest and most fearless of agents and assassins seemed to give him a hard shell to crack. But seeing his dad knocked out once more and dragged to who knows where hurt. It hurt a lot. He didn't care that the hurt over took him and he went limp in the woman's arms. He just was held in arms as his vision blurred. He barely noticed when he was handed over to another. All he noticed in his turmoil of emotion was a bright light. And then, darkness.

 **Everyone messed up. Everyone messed up _bad_. Well, this installment didn't kill me. Hopefully none of you readers will either. **

**I was wondering if this chapter was pointless for a bit. But I kind of like it. In an emotionally twisted sort of way. And what's a story without a few knocks to the feels?**

 **Anyway, let me know if you loved it, hated it, were confused by it, indifferent to it or any other combination you may feel towards it, using the lovely little feature we call, a review.**


	23. Unsteady creaky floors

**Well, sort of surprised by the dislike a few of you had to the last chapter. But eh, no one's perfect. Anyways onwards!**

Alice didn't know what to do. Of course she had been stopped by Moody and warned of a dangerous "escapee" when she had tried to stick with Arthur and Molly. If anyone, it was most likely Ron's adoptive father. Bloody hell, that's what he was, wasn't he? The rugged American man who held no magic and little if any threat at all to them from what she could tell. Granted, he seemed to be involved with taking down the magical madman who had plagued America when she and her son were over the pond, but he was hardly alone if the entourage of strangely dressed fellows was an indicator.

A group of approximately five individuals, six if rumors were correct, nonmagical individuals to defeat one magical person. There was no way he could escape an onslaught of with Ron in tow.

But hadn't he proven himself to be more than a common muggle? He had slipped past the aurors, escaped his interrogation room and even was in mere meters away from escaping the ministry building with Ron. Even if he didn't escape, that was much further than most magical escapees had gotten.

Land further than he would get again. They had discovered his exist through the vent system, and had made sure that such an error wouldn't occur again with this cunning muggle.

With her thoughts running rampart and her feet heading to the door to pick up Neville from his grandmother's home, she didn't notice a curious male just outside the building with a dark receding hair line, looking at each and every door and window.

* * *

Percy's head jolted upward from his chest in surprise. His eyelids heavy with a need for sleep that was rudely interrupted. He was about to tell off Fred and George, the usual noisy culprits who woke him in the dead of night, when he realized he was at the dining table. His head whipped to the door where he saw his mother stepping inside frantically, yet quietly, a bag or so of groceries from one of the quick magical markets. Percy's eyes widened when he saw his father step into the threshold with a sleeping lanky boy curled up in his arms. His face turned away from Percy, tucked away toward his father's shoulder.

Both his parents looked exhausted.

"Mum? Dad? Is that...?"

His mother put a finger to her lips telling him to be quiet as she nodded her head to answer his unfinished question. A rare warm Percy grin came to the middle child's lips. He slid out from the chair silently and walked over to his parents, avoiding the known creaky floorboards. He stared down into his father's arms to see half of Ron's buried face, dusted lightly with freckles. His lips were a bit larger than his own thin pressed line for a mouth, and his ears a bit too big for his head.

He was his youngest brother. He hesitantly raised his right hand towards Ron's face. As if touching him would shatter an illusion he had told himself he would never fall for. As if he were made of fairy dust and glass. His mother gave him an encouraging look, seeming to know what he wanted- no, _needed_ to do. His fingertips finally came in contact with cool skin chilled from the night air and stray strands of shaggy red hair. He pushed the strands aside only for a few to fall back onto his face.

"He's really here," Percy whispered in disbelief. His vision became slightly clouded and he backed away. He would not cry. Damnit he was a young adult. He would not cry. Even if his missing younger brother had just been brought home. He took a deep breath and let out a quiet sigh. The moment had passed, his vision cleared. He would remain the stable rock for his younger brother to lean on when the inevitable chaos of the family overwhelmed him as it has so many others.

"We'll need to get him to his room. Poor dear is all tuckered out. I don't think he'd even wake for dinner," his mother fretted. His dad nodded and began to take Ron to his newly cleaned room in the attic.

* * *

Ron groaned as he rolled his face over onto the warm pillow. His eyelids heavy and his body achy, like he had tried to sneak into the SHIELD training room again. He may not be successful in entering the room yet, but he was getting better at avoiding the agents that were supposed to keep him out. Even if it usually did leave his legs feeling a bit sore from the running. Ron rubbed his face into his pillow taking a deep breath through his nose when his brain seemed to freeze. This wasn't minty. It didn't smell like sanitized walls of SHIELD. He couldn't smell his dad's lingering body spray.

His mind was reeling until he remembered he was living with Tony Stark, the big inventor and creator of Iron Man. Right. So he was in the garish gold and red room that felt so warm and everything was slippery silk-

His mind came to a halt again. His face wasn't pressed to silk. He was lying on cotton. And the blankets and sheets were of similar material. He was about to panic when he groggily heard people talking. Or at least a man. Not his dad, but someone subdued. Oh right. He was in England with Hermione, Bruce and his dad. He moaned as he planted the entirety of his face in the pillow. He hated mornings like this, where he had trouble remembering that the Helicarrier was gone and so much of his life uprooted in a matter of months.

Although thinking on it, he didn't think he would change much if he had the choice. For the first time in years he was interacting with someone his own age, he was out of the sky and now, held high, but still connected to the ground. For the first time, he was actually traveling, not just to bases and military complexes, but places kids would actually be excited about seeing. He didn't know how to word it, to his it was a wave of content emotions within his head and core of his chest.

No longer feeling as though he could sleep, he slowly turned his head off of the pillow and opened a sleepy blue eye. He stared blankly at the wood walls that surrounded him. He turned his head further off the pillow and opened his other eye, staring hard at the wall. That wall didn't look like a hotel room. At least, from what Ron saw in movies. Truthfully he hadn't been in the hotel in Britain, or anywhere for that matter. Bruce had been the one to take their bags to the room as Both he and Hermione were watched by Clint and prevented from wandering off to explore London.

With little thought or effort, he turned his body on its' side before attempting to sit up. Internal alarms went off in his body as he took in the room. It was of moderate size. Not terribly large, but roomy enough. But the little things were what caught his attention. In the room was a bookshelf filled with pieces of literature and story books, some looking a bit dusty from disuse. But what made him the most concerned, was the lack of another bed. He knew he was sharing a room with his dad while Bruce and Hermione were separated by a wall and a door. At least that was how his dad described it.

And this room was nothing like he had imagined. He grabbed the blanket that he was wrapped in, again a shock that it appeared to be hand made, and pulled it off his body. He was still dressed in yesterday's clothes, understandable considering his dad never seemed to have a problem sleeping in any sort of clothes and would never think of changing him into pajamas as he slept. Everything just felt off. Though perhaps that was just because he was hungry. He didn't remember eating last night and when he didn't eat nothing felt right. That must've been it.

Slowly he brought his legs off the bed and placed his bare feet on the wooden floor. It creaked under the shift of weight. Ron thought little of it as he stood up and walked over to the door. Placing his hand around the doorknob, he turned it carelessly and pulled it open.

"What did you do with my badge?!" a voice raged throughout the... Stairwell? Sure enough right outside the door was a stairwell. Did they crash at Neville's house instead? Because if they did, he didn't recall Neville saying he was living with anyone other than his mom.

A chilling sensation spread through his stomach. There was something incredibly off.

"Calm down Perc-" a new voice broke in. Younger.

"Can't you take a joke?" Another voice finished off. If not for the cadence of words and the slightly lower tone of voice, Ron didn't think he would have noticed.

"Oh yes because this is _incredibly_ humorous." Perc, the pompous sounding fellow grumbled none too quietly. In fact, the everything seemed so much louder when he opened the door. His curiosity beckoned him as he shut the door, ever so slowly. The room was near silent once more. The rancor and conversation seemed almost muted.

A simple wooden door couldn't dampen that much noise. He opened the door just a crack, and in came a wave of sound. Laughter, yelling, clanging of pans, footfalls from people running and then came a shrill yell all its own. A yell whose words were lost on his ears but not his mind and body. The voice, it belonged to a red haired woman. A woman who claimed to be his biological mother.

The ebbing frost in his stomach turned to a large mass of ice. He fell to his knees and began breathing shaky and deep as he remembered what had happened yesterday. His eyes closed as it felt like he was reliving the snapshots. He was taken from his dad, not once... But twice, and then delivered to complete strangers in who knew where. He shivered in discomfort and cool fear nestled in his heart.

He had to get out.

His eyes opened with steely determination. He didn't care who was here, how many there were, he just wanted to go home. With his dad. His muscles tensed as he got to his feet. He pushed the door open slowly taking a shallow breath. He breathed through his nose as he descended the stairs, wincing every time the wood creaked. He listened for any indication he was leaving the top most room. He bit his lip as he made each step slower, pressing himself closer to the wall. When he made it to the base of the first part of stairs, and came to the inevitable turn, he paused. The last thing he wanted was to be seen. He heard more clamor down further on what was most likely, the first floor. With a burst of adrenaline, he turned the corner. He bumped into someone. His eyes widened as he stepped back. Bright brown eyes stared at blue pools.

In front of him was a person who barely came to his nose. Freckles sprayed across the face and red hair that matched his own locks. The mouth of the other opened their mouth, no doubt to scream, when Ron moved.

He had seen his dad do this before on countless agents he had surprised and wanted to keep quiet so he could get to his intended target. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her close, turning her so her back was in his chest and clamped his other hand over her mouth.

"Don't scream," he whispered near her ear, "I'm not going to hurt you, but you're coming with me. Do you understand?"

She nodded, terror evident in her eyes. He took her slowly up the stairs back into the odd quiet bed room. By the time they made it in the room, the girl was trembling with not just fear, but fury. Clearly evident as he let her go to close the door. Oh god she almost looked like a little Aunt Tasha. Wait, did that make him his dad? He actually hoped not. Usually his Aunt would win any argument or discussion. Verbal or otherwise.

Ron shook the thought aside for the moment. He opened his mouth and let out his first question.

"Who are you?"

Well that wasn't what he was planning. He was going to ask where he was. Eh, but he'd go with it. Stand by your words. Never show regret or weakness. Don't stammer, not that he had a problem with that one...

"Ginny," the girl interrupted his thoughts, "I'm Ginny Weasley, Ron."

Ron tensed. She knew his name. Well that shouldn't have been too surprising in retrospect.

"Well um, Ginny... Where are we? What am I doing here?"

Great. Now he added um. He needed to have absolute confidence and control.

"We're ho- well... Ottery St Catchpole. The Burrow. Our home," she replied beginning unsteady to a hardy conviction. Her eyes were cool with annoyance and hot with anger. What was it with female redheads that they could pull off such a look? His Aunt Tasha and even Tony's girlfriend Pepper seemed to have mastered the same look.

"Your home," Ron replied catching the our, "I've never been here before."

"Yes you have. Mum and dad have pictures of you playing with Fred and George-"

"Who?" Ron squeaked out the question. His face contorted into a deep and unabashed level of confusion.

"Fred and George. Our brothers."

Two words hit Ron like a freight train. Our brothers. That meant that this girl... Was his sister... And they had two brothers?

"I think I need to sit down," he muttered turning pale. He walked over to the bed and sat, keeping his eyes locked on Ginny in case she made a run for the door. Ginny stared back at him. She walked over slowly, not sure what to make of him before deciding to sit next to him.

"You didn't know?"

"Did you? What are you supposed to be? My twin?"

There was confusion. Ginny seemed to not know how to respond. But that didn't stop her from immediately answering.

"No. I'm your younger sister."

"Younger sister. Of course," Ron spoke in a panicky tone, "Why not?"

A small smirk appeared on Ginny's face.

"Are you always this panicky?" she joked. Ron gave her a look.

"Only when I'm kidnapped and taken to my "ancestral" home."

Ginny giggled hearing his response. Ron gave a small genuine smile in return.

"You're pretty funny."

"I try," he added with a shrug when his stomach let out a roar. His face flushed a light pink.

"Do you want to go downstairs for breakfast? Mum's making the lot this morning."

"I'm not really sure I could handle that right now," responded honestly despite his hunger. Ginny nodded though it didn't look like she fully understood.

"Mum really wants you downstairs. That's actually why I coming up. To see if you were awake."

"Uh huh. Can you tell her I'm asleep?"

"She'll come up herself and wake you if I say you're still asleep, and wake you herself."

Ron grumbled. He debated inwardly what to do. Contrary to what people may believe if they knew his family, he did not know how to fight. Oh he could through a punch, but that was about it. He was expected to be kept safe and out of conflict. His dad never wanted him to fight. He wanted him to have a childhood... Or as much of one as he could have considering he would go trick or treating on the Helicarrier. Perhaps it was foolish, but he was versed in escaping high end military facilities full of trained and tired espionage agents and government officials, not a domestic magical household. He knew within the walls of the Helicarrier and a few within Stark Tower. Here he was blind. The best thing he could do...

"Alright. Let's go down I guess."

Ginny gave a small yet knowing smile as she walked to the door. Ron couldn't help but think about how it wasn't as odd as he thought it would be to be related. She seemed to deal with the whiplash of emotions similarly to how he did. Quick to anger, stew in it based on time and offense and let it go with possible humor. Perhaps she would be an ally to his escape. Until then, it was time to be subdued. No one ever suspects the subdued child. At least, according to his Aunt Tasha when she briefly mentioned her scetchy past.

And with that in mind, he exited the room following Ginny down the stairs. He took in the pathways and exits. The windows wouldn't do a lot of good. They were small, and there seemed to be nothing under them on the outside that could give him steady footing. The floors were creaky. They weren't good for sneaking unless one knew each floorboard it seemed. Another set of stairs and the words grew louder from the individuals below. The words lost in their rancor and enthusiasm. They seemed amused or joyful. Ron's legs felt heavier, moved slower as he approached the base of the stairs. Ginny walked down the final steps and sat at the table between a grown woman, Molly, and a boy who was sitting next to a duplicate. Across the table was another male with a narrow face and eyes focused on the two boys across from him. At the end of the table, across from Molly was a man, what was his name again...? Oh it was Arthur.

He glanced at three empty chairs at the table. Three plates with cups, plates, forks and knives. That didn't comfort Ron. Nonetheless, he looked over the seats, the boy who was glaring at the lookalikes hadn't noticed him yet and had two seats open next to him. One across from Ginny, but next to Molly, the other across from no one else and next to Arthur. He didn't have time to debate when Ginny told her mom that he was there, as she started to diffuse the tension and bickering between the lookalikes and the angry red head. The woman stood, garnering all the attention from the other occupants. Ron had to admit, that was impressive. But terrifying as they followed her body to his where she gave him a tight hug. He tensed at the contact. As much as he loved hugs, he would rather instigate it. Or at the know the person.

"Good morning Ron," she greeted with joy ever present, she hugged him for a moment more before wrapping a lone arm around him and leading him to a vacant seat. The one across from Ginny. The two lookalikes stared at him with identical expressions of awe and mirth, the one next to him held a cool, schooled expression, Arthur seemed rather happy, a warm smile not once faltering, overall a little odd. Almost as if they had an inside joke he wouldn't get.

"So this is-"

"-ickle Ronniekins," the two across from him spoke. Ron blinked.

"What?" He questioned. Ickle Ronniekins?

"Absolutely thrilled-"

"-Estatic-"

"-Joyful-"

"-Completely delighted you're here," they said back and forth again. Something told Ron this was going to be a long meal.

 **Would you believe me if I said this chapter got away from me. It was going to be a lot shorter but it never felt quite right and I couldn't organize my ideas, nor could I really add anymore beyond this part. Mentally that is. It'll be a bit before the next chapter so I may organize my thoughts.**

 **So before any of you say anything, yes I know this chapter's boring. But it is what I wanted to add, as well as springboard for what is yet to come.**

 **Please let me know what you think, good or bad I do appreciate honesty.**

 **Oh! And I have noticed that a lot of readers are not from countries that do not have English as their native language. So, in a review, I'd like to see a shout out in your first language!**


	24. Breakfast with the Weasleys

Ron furrowed his brows and scrunched his nose as if to subtly make his displeasure known to the gaggle of gingers sitting in the room. They all seemed to be beaming at him except for the more subdued boy next to him who held a warm but controlled smile.

"Hungry Ron dear?" Molly asked immediately taking control of the conversation. Ron glanced over and received full blast of loving and overprotective eyes locked onto his face. He was about to decline when she started speaking again, "You must be since you didn't have dinner last night. And you look far too thin as it is."

Clearly she was a woman who liked to be in control. Ron didn't have as much a problem with the concept considering how he was raised around agents where gender merely meant who you would spend the night with. Not that his dad or Aunt Tasha ever really did, but he had seen many pair up for no real reason for the night and then avoid each other for a day or so. His dad never did go into detail with what they were up to, but would spend the day making odd jokes that made the agents laugh.

"What about-?" The boy next to Ron was about to ask when his mother- Molly- interrupted.

"Oh they'll be here. They just had a few things to finish up before they arrive," Molly cheerfully proclaimed.

"You think they'll bring souvenirs?" One lookalike asked the other.

"They always do," the other replied, "Maybe more dragon scales-"

"Or a turban!"

Ron couldn't help but wonder if they were talking an aunt or uncle, perhaps grandparents that would join in on this supposed... Reunion. He didn't question aloud. That would make him seem interested. He didn't want to be interested or curious. He just wanted to find his dad and get back to the safety of Tony's tower and then, the Helicarrier once it was rebuilt.

"Oh don't pester them when they get here. It's not an easy trip from Romania and Egypt."

At least it wasn't Budapest.

* * *

It wasn't everyday that a man would walk into the Ministry of Magic wearing muggle formal attire... Or muggle clothing in general for that matter. Nonetheless, at approximately a quarter after eight, a slightly balding gentleman walked inside. His hair had yet to begin to gray, but slight crows feet around his eyes displayed a far more accurate representation of his age. He walked with confidence and yet with a sense of fondness and annoyance. His clothes were impeccably clean even down to his his incredibly shiny black leather shoes.

He walked up to one of the secretaries and greeted her with a warm albeit, somewhat plastic smile.

"Hello, ma'am. I'm here to speak with Minister Fudge. It is quite urgent," he said in a calm tone as if asking for a hot fresh scone. The woman glanced up at him. Slight annoyance appeared on her face before returning to the bored look she had earlier.

"I'm sorry sir, but do you have an appointment?"

The man held his smile, making the secretary begin to feel a little uncomfortable as the man pulled out a small leather wallet. Upon opening, her eyes widened slightly.

"I believe that this precedes needing an appointment. We wouldn't want an international incident now would we?"

The secretary couldn't help but worry about what she would hear about later from the higher ups... But there was no way she was going to be the reason an international incident broke out. She pulled out a fresh piece of parchment, and dabbed her quill in ink, quickly writing a call for the minister. Heaven and Earth knew that if the man didn't have an appointment, he wasn't often in til nine. This didn't prevent the uncomfortable uncertainty that filled her being. There was something off about this man, more than just his clothes, and she had no idea what.

* * *

Clint didn't groan as he woke up. He merely opened his eyes and looked around his _lovely_ cell. Scratch that, lovely _magical_ cell that could detect if he tried to escape without proper escort. Located in the back of the building he and Ron had been taken to, and with the only other exit out, through what seemed to be a canal. If he weren't surrounded by magic nuts and his son in possible danger, he'd be tempted to see just why they needed a water route. But as it were, he needed to wait patiently for agents to infiltrate and asisst in his escape as well as find where Ron was tucked away.

He briefly hoped that Bruce and his little ward Hermione wouldn't be to worried about their disappearance though. The last thing he needed was a rampaging hulk and two untrained magical children running about causing chaos.

* * *

Hermione and Bruce woke the next morning, somewhat rested and somewhat drowsy from the jet lag, both a little discouraged when neither Ron nor Clint were in their assigned hotel room. Bruce had calmly suggested that the two most likely got distracted by a puppy or something and would be back later. Hermione looked skeptical but didn't argue. They had taken the day to look of Hermione's books, reassuring Bruce that the school would be safe. One didn't quite know with magic when all their life they had been surrounded by science. Though he was a bit miffed watching Hermione meticulously comb through her books with far more focus than the night before when she searched for a spell to locate Ron and Clint. He knew she delved into books when her parents were brought up, and also just for pleasure as well.

She seemed to be a bit of a recluse without someone her age engaging her around.

* * *

Ron was a little miffed. He had yet to say a single word and it was hardly noticed by the family. It seemed as though they had an intricate weave of speech they were used to, and despite "involving" him, it was as if he had run into an old friend with exciting news and they just couldn't contain themselves. At least, according to the television. agents never really acted like this, and he had no idea what to make of the Avengers who would break into small groups or pairs for conversations leading to interrupting one another or repeating themselves.

So far though, it seemed the mother was in absolute control, the twins were, not too surprisingly troublemakers casting blame on one another or vouching for the other's whereabouts when questioned, the older boy seemed stiff and would often try to lecture them only to be cut off by the mother, and the father would occasionally add a remark about "muggle" tools and their functions he had to deal with at work. So far both he and Ginny had yet to say anything more that asking for food to be passed. Not that Ron had asked being a bit put off with how much food was on his plate to "put some meat on his bones", a challenge agents had been trying to do and never succeeded.

Ron was just about certain that the mom was going to try and make sure there were no left overs with this insanely large spread. He silently wished that whoever the empty chairs were for, they'd show up already. The sooner the food was gone, the sooner he'd have a chance to slip up to the room to plot an escape, or escape and teleport like he had before. But better to do when they couldn't see him...

"Mum? Dad?" A new male voice broke in above the gabble of talk.

"We're home!" another new male voice broke in when Ron was hit with a moment of realization. Mum... Dad... Oh not more siblings. His hands felt clammy as he tightened the grip on his fork, only Ginny taking notice and giving him a peculiar look as two older boys, or perhaps, younger men walked into the room. Both had the same bright red hair he had seen with each and every other _sibling_ he had seen. Their eyes, the same mystifying clear lake blue his own were.

The male on the left stood tall, seemed to have an almost dignified air to him though lacking in aristocratic features and tendencies creating a calmer, almost soothing image. His hair was longer that any of the other boys, brushed back cleanly and down his neck slightly before being tied into a short ponytail. His ear had what looked like a tooth themed earring hanging innocently, that seemed to pair well with his black, more leather styled clothes. He briefly wondered if his Aunt Tasha would do well to go shopping with him. Both red heads into a certain strong style.

The other male was as different as he was similar. He held confidence and stood tall, despite his shorter and stockier build being more reminiscent of the twins. His skin was not pale like the others but covered in thousands of freckles making him appear tanned from no doubt spending time outdoors. His hair was long, but not as much as the other, covering his ears with messy unkept locks.

"Ah Bill-"

"-Charlie!"

"Good to see you!" The twins both traded back and forth standing up giving their taller brothers a hug. The two grinned down at the younger ones and hugged back, then trading twins and hugging the other. Both then hugged Ginny, who had gotten up to greet them. They kissed their parents' cheeks and the shorter one ruffled the thinner sitting teen's head. The guy with the ponytail approached Ron and gave a warm smile. He ruffled his hair similarly to how the other did. Ron stiffened. His dad wasn't much of a hair ruffler, he was one to put an arm around his shoulder and give it a squeeze. His Aunt was the ruffler, and that was more like a casual pet than the quick movements he was given. The ruffling didn't even last five seconds when the hand retracted and he took a seat in one of the empty chairs.

Ponytail sat next to the thin twig while freckles sat next to the twins and dad.

"Oh boys," Molly sighed, "You should really let me cut your hair-"

"It's fine mum. It's out of the way for work and none of the goblins have a problem with it," ponytail sighed obviously used to this conversation. Ron was not so lucky as he choked a bit on his water. The boy next to him gave him a look. One that was well guarded but showed a level of concern. Ron gave a light cough and put his water down. Last thing he wanted was to have another choking incident and get their eyes on him. Not that Molly's eyes weren't watching everyone already but still.

"And I like my hair just fine," the other argued, a bit more passionately than his subdued opposite, "It's not like it gets in the way or anything."

"You say that now but it is getting in your eyes," Molly quipped back. It was like tennis, throwing an arguement back and forth over hair of all things. Ron really didn't get it. If it wasn't a hindrance then why worry? Ron began to space out and went back to eating when his ears caught something that made him react, "You say that now but what if those dragons light your hair on fire?"

Ron who was unfortunate to have been about to swallow when he heard her mention dragons, breathed instead of swallowed making him choke once more, coughing to dislodge and get everyone's eyes focused on him. His eyes darted around as he finally swallowed the bite he had been choking on.

"You alright there Ron?" the teen next to him asked. Ron froze for a moment as his reality began crashing down. Now he'd have to interact and acknowledge them on a more intimate level. They were already calling him by name that he never gave, and he knew three people's name for sure, but the others didn't match names to faces.

"I'm fine," he muttered giving a quick glance in his direction before looking back down at his plate.

"Are you sure dear. Perhaps you could use some more water?" Molly stated pulling out her wand. Ron nearly jumped as it began to fill with more water. Strange never used magic so... Casually. And neither had Ms. Longbottom or anybody else he'd seen. He waited a moment before taking a sip of the water in an effort to get her eyes off him. It didn't work.

"So Ron-"

"-You enjoying breakfast?" the twins asked, each sporting a devilish grin. He briefly noted that one had lifted the corners of his mouth a little higher that the other, while the other was showing more teeth.

"Sure. As much as anyone can I guess," he muttered with slight annoyance creeping into his voice. It seemed to go greatly unnoticed by the parents, but each of the children seemed to note it.

"Well, mum does make fantastic food," ponytail added to dispel potential awkwardness, "Doesn't she Charlie?"

Ron was grateful for the name assist. So freckles was Charlie meaning ponytail must be Bill.

"Sure does. Hey mum, you mentioned you were making corned beef for dinner tonight right?"

Ron wrinkled his nose. He _hated_ corned beef. It had to be the nastiest thing his dad ever had him try. Though if breakfast was any indication, he'd probably get away without having to eat any of it. There seemed to be a plethora of choices at breakfast alone, whatever she came up with as a side should be enough to fill him, that is, if he was still stuck in this house with them by then.

"You'll like it Ron. Mum makes the _best_ dinners," one of the twins said with a jovial tone. Ron gave a forced grin and looked back down at his plate. An odd rapping sound came to his ears as the stiff boy he was sitting next to stood up.

"Paper's here," he said. Ron turned his head curiously, wondering what the rapping had to do with the paper when he saw a barn owl with a rolled up newspaper and a small purse that the older boy was putting coins in. The owl flew away before Ron could get up and get a closer look. Sure he had heard both Mione and Neville mention owls were used to deliver mail, but seeing it was truly bizarre. Wait a minute...

Hermione and Neville! He was so caught up in the chaos with his dad he forgot that they were separated from them too! His thoughts distracted him as the teen with the paper unfolded it from the owl's carry. He missed his eyes widening as he stared at the front page. He placed the paper in the center of the table. Normally, this would be grabbed by either Arthur or Molly depending on the front page story or whatever funny article was in it. But the family all stared at the moving picture and the front page article in disbelief as Ron still had his thoughts about his missing friends and his dad.

Though his family had an array of reactions. On the front page was a titled and lengthy article, " _Lost war child found after a decade with violent criminal'._ There were two pictures. One of the criminal who had Ron looking tired and a little paranoid, though still unnamed, the other of Ron fidgeting between both Molly and Arthur, occasionally with a flash of black and a man running in and grabbing Ron only to be dragged back. The twins quickly snatched the paper much to the amusement of the family beginning to read as both Charlie and Ginny leaned and read over their shoulders.

Ron was a bit confused when he came out of his deeper thoughts of worry to rationally ask if the Weasley's had a phone book or something so he could contact Neville and he or his mom, hopefully could contact Hermione and let her know what was going on, and he saw the newspaper being stared at by four people rather intently. Even stranger was that the more he stared, the more he noticed the pictures from the back of the paper were in fact moving, it was a small back to school article with deals and whatnot but still... Strange didn't use books with moving pictures. He said that generally they were distracting from the process or information you needed to retrieve. All in all this house was more and more perplexing with each passing moment he was in it. He nearly jumped when they opened the paper to find... Whatever the article end they were reading was. His eyes however caught the title, then the pictures. His blood turned to ice in an instant, then began to boil with rage.

His dad was not a criminal! He glared at the images of him being held by both Molly and Arthur, his lips twitching upward when he is snatched by his dad, and frowning as he looked back at his overly tired, ragged looking dad with a mug shot like a common criminal. He suddenly had no appetite. The food in his stomach sat like hot sauna rocks in boiling water. He stood abruptly from the table getting everyone's attention as he began to head out of the dining space.

"Ron?"

"Where are you going?"

"Are you feeling okay?"

"Did you eat too much?"

"What's wrong?"

They were probably all going to ask something, but that last question finally ignited an explosive flame. He pivoted to face them, his face contorted into an angry and ugly scowl.

"Oh nothing," he sarcastically replied, "Everything is just sunshine and daisies isn't it? Everything is right with the world and _I_ couldn't be better."

"Ronald-" Molly attempted to intervene. But Ron wasn't raised that way. He was only cowed when his Aunt or Dad made him cry uncle. Everyone else had to earn his respect before he wouldn't just interrupt. Hell he still sometimes interrupted his Uncle Nick. As he has heard him say, "I have acknowledged that you have made an effort at an apology, but considering it is a stupid ass apology I have decided to ignore it". Ron took that to heart with many things he did, much to his family's amusement and irritation. Not the people around him with the matching hair, nose and/or eyes. But the ones who had raised him back in America. Those who told him that he wasn't by blood, and that it didn't matter.

"I've just been dragged away from all I've ever known- Unwillingly I think I should add- and given to, for all intents and purposes, strangers. I don't know _any_ of you. And you all just grabbed me and sat me down like I'm one of _you. I don't know you people_ ," he snapped out, "Hell! I don't even know their names!" he gestured towards the boys in general. There was a stunned silence as Ron took deep breaths, his anger ebbing away from his burst of aggressive passion. Ron continued on with less energy and a twinge of sadness mixed in with his anger, "And yet here I am eating breakfast with you lot as if I've been doing this with you my entire life. Guess what? I've not."

His eyes fogged with tears as he shook. His world was crumbling around him. He heard movement and chairs. He felt arms wrap around him. He blinked away the tears to see Molly holding him close, stroking his hair back and placing a kiss on his temple. Ron didn't relax, nor did he hug back, he stood and let the wave of emotion taper out so he could hopefully focus on getting back to his dad, and back to America.

 **And let the hate continue. This is actually going towards where I want the story to go. Be patient and you'll see. Til then, you have this dose of feels to deal with.**

 **Oh, and everyone, please do review, good or bad it's good to know what you honestly think of where this story is going.**

 **Though I promise, what you read will be where I want it to end up and should, for the most part (in my opinion) be entertaining.**


	25. Who's that there?

Fred and George were besides themselves in thought. They had dreamed of reuniting with their brother for years. But it never really crossed their minds that he just wouldn't _know_ them. Or not even know they existed. Sure he was young when he was taken, but they remembered him. Their mum would feel nostalgic and talk about how they used to want to rustle with him. How they would pinch his chubby cheeks and he would giggle, unlike Ginny who was an infant at the time and hated her face being touched. They remembered that his eyes looked just like their brother Charlie's being blue and all, and that he had little freckles on his nose.

They remembered he loved to giggle at Bill's silly faces when he did play with them. Bill rarely spoke of those days.

They remembered he was a messy but big eater, Percy would occasionally think back and mention certain foods with both nostalgia and irritation, being a young victim to Ron throwing his baby mush.

They remembered their dad humming a lullaby to him when he got really fussy because Ginny was with mum so often. Small words slipping out into a tune he sung for them when they were sick.

They remembered their mum dancing in the kitchen with their dad on a rare quiet day, he would hold Ginny and she, Ron. Ron would lay his head on her shoulder and drift off to sleep as Ginny would giggle and coo before also drifting off with the swaying motions. Their parents still did on occasion, the movements practiced yet natural.

All contradictory to their breakfast and reuniting with their baby brother. They were excited. For once, they would have a meal with everyone around the table. Like they should be. Like they should've been for years. But Ron seemed to get uncomfortable with each passing moment despite them trying to take the pressure off of him by keeping their mum distracted that he wasn't talking. Both Fred and George were a little upset when he seemed to shy away from both Bill and Charlie.

And everyone's heart seemed to plummet with this. He tried to leave the table. His emotions were wild and fierce much like Charlie's did, full of passion if directed right. But Ron's was directed at them. His anger, his sadness, his uneasiness... His _fear._ How he stared at them, watched them carefully and acted slowly, reacted quickly. Their minds couldn't get rid of their mum hugging him, and he just stood their stiff as a plank of wood. He didn't cry. He just sort of... Shut down.

And that was something neither twin ever liked to see. Or think about now that breakfast was over with, and mum and dad had take to cleaning the table with hushed tones while Bill and Charlie talked to Ron with relaxed tones about what they did, waiting for Ron to make a mention about himself, an interest or other thing that they could use to learn about their little brother.

* * *

Cornelius Fudge walked into his workplace with utmost importance, clutching a rushed note from his secretary stating an overseas affair may occur if not dealt with immediately. He knew what she had mentioned from his many meetings of affairs from within Europe. An American badge from their higher up in government. This man had requested a meeting from him, mere hours from the joyous reunion of a mother and father with their long lost albeit, disgruntled son.

He would prefer meeting with the press, attempting to calm the individuals until they dealt with the kidnapper. He was nervous. American agents seldom came through and demanded _his_ presence, more likely asking for the head of the Aurors in order to catch a criminal to be taken far back overseas. At least he assumed so.

Damn, he hoped his letter to Dumbledore would reach the man soon. Some advice would truly be appreciated before meeting with the Badge waving American.

But it was not to be as he stepped into the office where the American was waiting, sipping bitter coffee, lightened by either milk or cream. He had a smile on his face as he lowered his coffee and offered his hand.

"Minister Cornelius Fudge," he didn't ask. He just knew, "Phil Coulson."

"Ah, yes. You are the American?"

The man smiled indulgently, as if dealing with a small child or an ignorant individual.

"How astute of you. Please sit. We have much to discuss and I'm afraid no time for pleasantries."

Fudge sat behind his desk, trying to sit tall like the man across from him. The man placed his coffee down on the table next to him and pulled out a briefcase Fudge didn't notice before. Coulson opened it with control and meticulous movements. He pulled out a file, moderately filled with organized papers within.

Coulson's did not waver as he began to speak.

"I am here today to discuss your attacking of one of our Agents and his ward. Including, unlawful imprisonment and kidnapping of an American citizen."

"I assure you Mr. Coulson, we have done no such thing," Fudge declared confidently. There was no possible way that they had arrested an American agent _and_ assisted in taking his child away. That would be preposterous. Maybe he wouldn't need Dumbledore's help after all. Though the man's terse smile was unsettling, and he wished he did have some assistance. Coulson didn't acknowledge his statement as he pulled a photo from his suitcase and showed the picture to Fudge. He recognized the picture. It was the same man in the paper this morning. The same man who had the Weasley's youngest boy. Oh this did not bode well.

"He was with his ward, his colleague, and his colleague's young ward to prepare his colleague's Ward for her upcoming year in Hogwarts," he explained with a misleading casual tone, "When your aurors began to attack our agent."

"The aurors wouldn't attack without a reason. And the boy isn't his."

"I assure you, his birth certificate declares otherwise."

"Birth certificate? The boy was taken from his family and has been reunited. If that man is your agent, you may want to inspect who works with you." Coulson's face turned grim. His smile evaporated from his face. His eyes hardened, pierced into Fudge's eyes with the accusation he made. There was a judgment being made.

"Our agent found Ron being carried by two figures, a man and a woman," Coulson began to explain in a controlled yet condescension tone, "Our agent had heard they had plans to kill him, so he killed one and injured the other, removing Ron from the situation. We held an active search for his biological family for five years. Not once did we come across any information regarding a family with a missing child of his description."

"Your agency kidnapped one of our citizens to America?" Fudge questioned, his voice not hiding his disbelief.

"Not kidnapped. Rescued. Your country failed to perform it's part in alerting beyond your community that a child was missing," he took a sip from his coffee, "We searched and gave him, at the time, a temporary identity. For all intents and purposes, he is an American citizen."

Fudge tried to come up with an arguement that would spark animosity or Merlin forbid, war. Oh he really wished Dumbledore had gotten back to him before he had to meet with this troublesome man. Especially when it seemed he would be dealing with the fate of a pureblood child.

"We searched for him for years. Agents were active in their search for five years. He was told he was born in England, and aware he was not our agent's biological progeny. He has been asked on numerous occasions. He has consistently answered he was happy to remain in America."

"Minister Fudge," a new voice interrupted, "Albus Dumbledore is here."

Coulson raised a brow at the minister. The man bumbled and sputtered a bit before looking back at Coulson. Coulson gave a look that summed up impatience.

But he was the minister. And this man had no prior appointment. Surely he could wait.

After all, their evidence pointed towards the man being a kidnapper. He had the kid and ran from the law. If he were innocent he wouldn't have run.

"Excuse me for a moment," he said standing up. Coulson's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Fudge didn't look back as he went to meet with Dumbledore who thankfully would give some advise into the matter.

* * *

"Thank you for your assistance," a red haired woman gratefully choked out to a smiling older woman.

"Not a problem. Not one at all. I know if I couldn't get in contact with my daughter-in-law, I'd have been as panicked as you," the woman smiled knowingly. Neville was baffled seeing his gran so nice to a total stranger, and a nonmagical one to boot. She didn't hate them, goodness no. She just always thought they were a little queer and difficult to understand with their constant bounds and leaps in technology and language she, like many other witches and wizards, couldn't follow.

But he guessed his gran did have a soft spot for distraught mothers worrying for her child. Though this woman was a little odd. She seemed familiar but he couldn't place where. She had pale, creamy skin with no blemish in sight, her hair was a brilliant and vibrant red, brushed smoothly and having soft waves curving and shaping her face. In short, even a young eleven year old could tell she was pretty. But she was also kind of scary, like how she almost obsessively stared at people, waiting for one to enter the Leaky Couldron, nearly scaring his Gran half to death.

"You are a saint." There was no trace of a lie in her voice.

"Nonsense. Just an old mother, who understands the love of her child."

"Again, thank you."

"What are their names?"

"My husband Clint, and my son Ronald," she stated clearly as though she had said it hundreds of times before. Neville froze. He remembered Ron talking about his red haired aunt who both protected and cared for him. He then knew where he had seen her before. Back when Ron had run to his father, she was off in the distance. And he only saw her for a moment.

Neville didn't say anything however. If Ron trusted her, then he should too. Besides. If he was with her, he could find out what happened to his friend and his dad. He hoped.

* * *

"So a bar. I kind of like how these wizards think," Tony grinned, one arm around a surprised Bruce who stood next to Hermione. To their shock, the Iron Man, Stark the Snark, Tony had arrived popping into a bookstore they were in. Though how he found them, Bruce wasn't sure he wanted to know. Though he was more curious about the why.

He wished he didn't. He had to take many deep breathes to calm the inner anger from the other guy within. He didn't need the big guy. He _didn't_ need the other guy. Though if Tony was right, then Hermione had to guide them to the Leaky Cauldron and into the society of magic. Bruce would not be following the eccentric man though. He was going to keep Hermione out of the danger and keep the big guy under wraps.

"Ah, Firewhiskey. Kind of curious. Hey! Bartender, give me a bottle."

Bruce groaned as Tony began confusing the bartender and gathering the attention of the patrons.

* * *

Ron begrudgingly had to admit, his eldest... Male relatives of his biological mother and father... Were actually pretty interesting. Goblins running banks, and using gold and silver and jewels, hidden traps and powerful spells. Dragons running fairly free and appearing majestic and beautifully intimidating. Charlie even had a few scales, offering one to Ron. Ron would've said no, if not for Charlie downplaying the value and showing enough for everyone in the house, he would have been able to deny. He settled on a thin and narrow scale, shaped similarly to one of his dad's arrow heads. It's color was near black with a slight glint of purple. It had a wire around it attached to a silver colored chain.

Ron didn't allow him to put it on him. He took it from his hand and opened the clasp, making sure it was connected before letting go. The scale rested right over his heart. Bill gave Charlie a look that the younger just shrugged off. The taller boy from breakfast Ron sat next to walked over, Percy Ron believed his name was, and sat down on one of the chairs in the living room. He looked at both Bill and Charlie with pointed looks.

"Mum and dad wanted me to tell you lunch will be ready momentarily."

Ron blinked. Hadn't they just had breakfast? He turned to look at the grandfather clock he had noticed when he had come down the for breakfast. Time seemed to standstill when he saw the clock. It didn't have the time. Hell it didn't have just two hands. It had what looked like spoons. Each with different faces on the end. Each with a name written beneath each face. Each person that was at the table was there, and an odd image that seemed so out of place among the others. A silvery spoon with an infant's image was attached. His eyes went from the image to the engraved name just beneath it, curved and beautiful. Ron.

Molly, Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, Ginny... Ron.

"Ron? You okay?" Bill asked putting his hand on Ron's shoulder. Ron turned away from the clock. Any chance he'd be hungry was gone as he felt stress and unpleasant emotions he couldn't identify. His hand spoon thing... Was on home. He swallowed attempting to move the lump in his throat to speak.

"Yeah. I'm... I'm..." He just couldn't finish. He shook his head and faced away from the clock. He didn't care what it said. This little place was not his home. Nor could it ever be without his dad.

 **So... new chapter. And I don't think you guys know this, but I am a little flattered and embarrassed. One of the readers of Son of the Archer, has mentioned that Son of the Archer is mentioned on a forum. And I am flattered. To those readers from Space Battles, it's nice to know you're interested!**

 **I'm a little hyper and more than a little excited with what's to come as my beta sister girl could probably tell you. But sh!**

 **This is going to be chaos. How many of you liked seeing Phil? I liked putting him in! PHIL! And Tony and Natasha are here. I think I've lost it a little. Though, at least I'm somewhat guided. I hope the spark of inspiration hits again soon. For you and me!**


	26. Standoff

Ron nibbled his lunch of soup and salad at the eerily quiet table, sitting in his pants and shirt, his socks and shoes, lay back in the room he had woken in. Nobody knew quite what to say from their once comfortable beginning of breakfast. Ron was sitting between Bill and Charlie as well as across from both Ginny and one of the twins. Bill and Charlie attempted to engage, telling some stories to the family of being in Egypt and Romania. There was quiet laughter at the funny parts, eyes focusing on the speaker or their plate at the less funny moments. The tension could be cut with a knife.

Nobody knew the anger still simmering beneath Ron's skin, waiting for the spark that would cause him to boil over.

"Of course, it wasn't as bad as the time Fred turned Percy's hair purple."

"Accidental magic," Percy grumbled. Ron looked up at the slightly annoyed elder, questions dancing on the tip of his tongue. Color changing? That seemed a bit... Impractical. Incredibly funny. But impractical. He had been raised with neutral pallets living on the Helicarrier after the incidents with his magic forced him to be homeschooled, and bright pops of color usually meant you got your ass handed to you in training when his dad got ahold of paint guns. Or when you pissed off a higher up agent with a childish sadistic streak and you were stuck with bubblegum pink or a barfy green depending on the offense.

"Oh but Ginny did one better, remember when she shrank mum's clothes?"

Ron furrowed his brows. Color changing. Size changing. He had seen magic before. Vanishing of glass, simple making his sandwich last longer to feed the birds. He had teleported on a few occasions. Safely to his dad, and the one time he attempted to do it under full control, he had lost his fingernails. He didn't even think he had the energy to make it out the door, via the trick, nonetheless, perform it without losing anything else. Something more... Permanent.

"Charlie took the cake though, turning Bill's book into a mud pie after Bill got him in trouble," Percy stated, as if to end the tirade of their family's accidental magic.

"I don't know Percy, you had quite the instant when you were younger when you got stuck on the ceiling." Charlie smirked. Ron snorted imagining the application. He so could use that to scare the younger agents. His heart clenched a little when he thought of his dad laughing at their misfortune and panic.

"Think it's funny?" Percy asked Ron. Not in a harsh accusing tone. But a genuine curiousity. Ron averted his eyes, pushing his salad around his plate. He knew he should eat more. But his stomach didn't feel up to it. If saying a few words kept people from noticing his lack of appetite, then he'd give it a shot. The last thing he wanted was vulture like witches and wizards coddling him, preventing him from making an effective escape. He could always try running. Perhaps outrun their magic with his own desperatation, and perhaps a brief instant of accidental magic. But he was tired from the last twenty four hours, jet lag, emotional stress, and physical exhaustion from the attempted escape with his dad had wore him out.

"Hysterical," Ron told Percy, attempting to hide any of his scattered emotions and fatigue.

"What about you Ronald? Molly asked, her voice making him tense slightly. She was a grownup, and apparently his... Biological mother, it didn't help with his current level of stress.

"What about what?" he questioned innocently. Play dumb. He had seen older agents do this to the new recruits, leading to cockiness followed by a large helping of humble pie to the newbies. Playing dumb, was an advantage.

"Your bouts of accidental magic. I'm sure you've had some," Molly smiled at Ron. Ron looked down at his plate. Could they all be called accidental magic? He had messed and played around with it some on the Helicarrier, much to the annoyance of the agents. Many times his magic failed, not doing or replicating what he had done before. Was it then, not accidental because he was trying? Strange did say an accident was just an unintentional side effect or event.

"I turned my Aunt's gloves into pillows," he decided to say. Something that seemed to line up with the rest of them so he wouldn't stand out. A book into a mud pie was similar to gloves to pillows right? And he wasn't thinking about the gloves turning into pillows. He just didn't want his dad to get hurt.

"Why did you transfigure her gloves?" Arthur, the... Biological father asked. Ron raised his brow and turned to him, genuinely confused.

"What?" he just about whispered, a gasped breathless sounding question. As though he didn't want the word to slip past his lips to their ever listening ears.

"Well accidental magic reacts to your emotions normally," Percy began to explain in a matter-of-fact tone, sounding much like how Ron imagined the scholars his Aunt-Uncle Fitsimmons would mock when their own knowledge and self worth over inflated their egos. Another twinge strummed in Ron's heart. He hadn't seen them since the downing of the Helicarrier and Loki's attack. According to his Uncle Nick, they had been reassigned indefinitely. His stomach churned unpleasantly at the memory of being told, the soup and salad felt thick and unpleasant resting inside being slowly digested. Percy continued, unaware of Ron's inner emotional turmoil, "You magic determines a need and solution, be it practical, or impractical revenge themed in nature."

Ron bit the inside of his mouth. He'd need to say something to keep them off him and his emotions so they'd hopefully ignore him. But he didn't want to tell them anything about his dad.

"I don't remember," he lied thinking back almost fondly to the memory of his Aunt and dad sparring, and the look of shock on their faces. He lowered his face to hide his small smile at the memory.

"Happens sometimes," one of the twins stated.

"Too right Forge."

"We've had lots of accidental magic-"

"-And we don't remember why it happened-"

"But it was usually pretty funny."

"Big elephant ears-"

"Books flying off the shelves-"

"Made Mum real mad," they grinned at their mother with loving and goofy expressions as she sighed good heartedly at them, before looking at Ron. Perhaps more specifically, his bowl and plate.

"Arent you going to have more Ronald? You're practically skin and bones," Molly declared. Ron's face tinted a slight red color and took an exaggerated large bite of salad to appease and keep her from nagging him despite his stomach's protest. And thankfully, the salad was a tad lighter on his stomach than the thick soup.

"And after lunch we'll get you changed. You're still wearing your clothes from yesterday..."

* * *

Clint gave the two men a look as they dragged him out of his cell, towards God only knew where. Damn where was SHIELD when you needed them? He had sent the homing signal out hours ago. He knew they couldn't be there the minute he called for back up. But this was just taking too damn long. Even if they were in a magical community, what was holding them up? Oh wait... Magic. Duh.

He was really hating magic. As well as the loud echoing noise of boots falling on stone floors. Clint paused when the noise flickered out for a moment, only to be pushed forward. The archer avenger grumbled a bit under his breath. He was losing his battery _now_? Oh great. Deaf man walking.

That's just what he needed. He could still hear, the hearing aid doing it's job, but that wouldn't change the fact that as the battery continued to die, he would eventually not be able to hear anything. He was also most likely not going to run into anyone who signed. _Great._

* * *

Natasha walked with Ms. Longbottom and her grandson up towards the Ministry building while pulling slightly on the larger coat she was unaccustomed in wearing. Apparently it was the place where all government happened. Including the police work. If she was going to find Clint, then most likely, they would be of some use to her. The training from the red room whispered cruelly in her mind that they may be dead. The homing beacon let out a distress signal they couldn't quite pinpoint. Although, if by some means her partner and pseudo nephew were dead... SHIELD would most certainly back her up for the removal of a threat that took one of their agents off mission and his young son.

She had done so for a few other agents who had lost their lives as well as a relative's to complete their missions. Contrary to popular belief, she did have a heart. One that lended itself more to violence than coddling, but who was to argue with the results? The enemy defeated, and the friends and living relatives could live a little easier knowing the one responsible for their loved ones death was gone. Hence the weapons she liked to keep on her person. At the moment, three knives, about half a foot long, and three loaded pistols. She was a killer with red dripping from her ledger. An assassin with terrifying instincts.

Instincts that made her on edge walking into the aged wonder before her that dwarfed the other buildings both inside and out, commanding respect. Shame she held none and only saw to complete her mission of saving her partner's ass and her nephew's skin. She followed Ms. Longbottom to where she would meet with Aurors to file her missing "husband" and "son" when the very mission parameters seemed to change.

Two men were leading a prisoner somewhere. While she would have noted it in case they were dangerous, effectively escaped and tried to attack, she realized she actually recognized the man being led away. His eyes met hers for a brief instant before she moved. With grace and ferocity surprising most around her, she attacked one of the men leading Clint. Clint followed suit, knocking a wand from his hand, making it slide across the ground a few feet away. Natasha was not as kind as she splintered the wand of the other foe, crushing it under her shoe. She pulled a small pistol from her jacket, tossing it to Clint before pulling one out of her own.

"Merlin's beard!" Ms. Longbottom cried out. Her grandson's eyes widened at the display, shock fairly obvious on his features. Natasha could practically feel Clint grinning at the boy.

"Hey Neville. How are you?"

Natasha looked back at her partner and then the kid. Her brow rose when she realized this was most likely who Bruce and Clint had met up with, or at least his... Grandmother perhaps? He had a mother, though where she was Natasha didn't know. Not that it was important right now though.

"Sir?" Neville questioned. His grandmother gave him a look and began asking questions. Natasha didn't listen as she focused on the growing swarm of most likely, magical policemen, coming into the room with their wands at the ready. Natasha pulled her second pistol out, aiming both before her along with Clint.

"Merlin's beard! What is going on here?!" A man's voice broke in. Two men walked on the side of the crowd of magic users, one a pudgy dumbstruck man, the other, a far older man with a disturbingly long white beard. Merlin poser perhaps? Neither had a wand out, but she still kept them in her peripheral, eyes hardened as she kept her fingers firmly on the trigger.

"Just like Omsk huh?"

Natasha recalled the mission.

"I remember Omsk very differently."

"Maybe now. But give it a minute."

They had been surrounded by the town's cops, they all believing they were killers of a citizen. Well Natasha did kill him. But he had been an active member of the red room years ago and was assisting a few terrorists getting information on it. She didn't have much of a choice. She wasn't going to risk taking the man to SHIELD. But why would he bring it-? His hearing. His hearing aid had died.

"You didn't bring a spare?" she questioned.

"Truthfully, it's in my luggage. That they lost somewhere in Texas. Nothing too important. Just my clothes and toiletries."

"Of course," Natasha commented almost playfully, "Shame I didn't bring one."

"Nor I," a familiar and new voice broke in. A thousand curse words and praises went through both Clint and Natasha's head. "My apologies that you weren't out sooner. But it would seem as though the minister does not care for an ally nation's agent."

"Coulson," Clint says in deadpan, "And here I thought you were dead."

"I was. If only for a while. SHIELD does have a wonderful health care plan."

Clint snorted. His hands still firmly on the gun. He noted that a few looked cocky, as if the gun weren't a threat while a few seemed shaky. Probably a magic user who knew about their weapons. Muggle he recalled the given name. However they used that word.

"Mr. Coulson!" The man next to the bearded man called out, "What is the meaning of this?"

"We were discussing the meaning earlier when you walked out of our meeting I had called for. I believe our agents have taken action where you have been lacking."

"What is going on here?!" Ms. Longbottom yelled out getting both sides attention. She looked both hilarious and terrifying with her vulture like clothing and hideously large bag. Neville's face flushed having attention drawn to his grandmother. Truthfully beyond that he felt overwhelmed. What was Ron's dad doing in the ministry. And where was Ron?

"Madam Longbottom, please come with us. This is a matter of security," a young magical officer tried to guide her and Neville. The woman pulled out her wand threateningly, aiming it at the groups, daring them to drag her out.

"Someone explain what is going on. This young lady was separated from her son and husband, I come here and all this chaos spurts out."

"You used the husband gambit?" Clint hissed to Natasha. She shrugged her shoulders indifferently.

"Can't fault what works."

"Even if it leads to a Meican standoff?" Phil asked reaching into his own suitcase, but not removing his hand from the large case.

"Bit far across the sea for one of these isn't it?" Clint joked, a smile breaking out across his face. Natasha spared a half second glance at Clint.

"Next time we'll go to Mexico. Will that make you feel better?"

"Absolutely."

* * *

It was just after lunch when Ron had snuck away from his family to use the bathroom. His stomach lurched as he purged the contents into toilet. He missed his dad. He would've held him close and rubbed his back. Would get someone to go bribe Fury to make his family's famous chicken soup. Though considering what he just ate, perhaps maybe just FitzSimmons fresh baked bread.

He finally took a deep breath and wiped his eyes of his tears and flushed the toilet. He went to the sink and rinsed the vomit from his pallet.

He wasn't sick. But his stress was not helping him. For him, stress usually effected him in two ways, either extreme hunger and need of comfort food, or an inability to hold down as much food. The first one was easy to deal with, usually just some loving time with his family. Talking about whatever was making him stressed over a game of chess, virtual or physical, or perhaps another quiet game. He'd back down to his own normal eating pattern after that. The other, was dealt with a little slower. Using lighter foods and keeping crackers and fruit available so he'd eat throughout the day as he worked out the stress.

He grimaced at his reflection, his hand a little shaky. His blood sugar was dropping, but he didn't think he could keep anything that Molly Weasley would make him down. Her food thick and heavy. Foods he could enjoy. But with his dad's needed diet, they didn't eat them as often. More so because Aunt Tasha would interfere with his junk food plans on practically a weekly basis. He almost cracked a smile recalling her stealing his donuts one morning and giving them to the scientists, saying if he ate anymore he wouldn't fit in the vents. Instead, tears streamed down his face.

He wanted his dad. He wanted his family. He wanted to feel safe in their arms.

With his emotions in turmoil, he didn't notice a familiar feeling in his gut. The squeezing of his body until a loud pop came to his ears and all his energy seemed to be drained from his body as he nearly fell to the floor. A strong arm held him up and pulled him into a well sculpted chest as he noticed pain blossoming from his finger tips and his toes.

"My god Ron you are going to give me a heart attack," the man holding him said keeping a firm stance.

"Dad?"

"You betcha baby bird," he joked. Ron smiled into his dad's chest and wrapped his arms around him, resisting the urge to tighten his grip to avoid hurting his fingers.

"My god the kid spliched." A voice gasped.

"Get him away from that madman!"

"Kid must have Stockholm syndrome or something-"

Ron's anger flared at the verbal passive attacks on his dad. He whipped his head around only half his face visible to the magical police.

"Shut up!" he cried out in a pained voice, "You don't know anything about my dad!"

The air's tension grew thicker with his words as Clint tightened his grip on his tired and injured son. Ron's eyes began to shed tears as he struggled to face the people who dared say those things about his dad, despite his ever growing pain. And the slight spinning of the room? A mass of various bodies seemed to blur together.

"He's my dad. And he's the best dad anyone could ever ask for. I love him. I will always love him," he grew softer, his body growing limp, fainting in his dad's arm, missing the dramatic pop of four red heads entering the room.

 **Well, as you can tell, I'm being a little shit. Maybe I do need to calm down... Take a break from fanfic like my sister said I should...**

 **NAH! I enjoy this too much. But anyway, this all just happened. I don't know what else to say until the next installment. But I guess there is one thing I can ask for, a review perhaps?**


	27. Can't it go back to how it used to be?

**How's this for odd? Before I start the chapter, I have a small story. There once were three kittens. Well cared for and lived in homes. They had long fur and full bellies. One day, their owner put them in a box, closed it and left them in a school parking lot during a winter weekend.**

 **A family happened to pass and inspected the box perhaps minutes, or days later and took the kittens home. Within three days time, they had taken over a bathroom, hidden in couch cushions, between chests and walls, between a grate in the fireplace and the brick wall, ran terror within the house terrified of the dogs who shied away from them, found a way to hide underneath a standing approximately six foot tall freezer and one of them having his man hood removed. This just in, apparently the vet was also nice enough to straighten his apparently crooked penis as well.**

 **Fleas and ear mites bombed off as well.**

 **Time waits for no one. Sometimes there is nothing to do and time seems to take forever. Other times, there is so many things happening in a cluster fuck that effects you permanently that you can always remember even the most insignificant details. We are in a hot mess of shit hitting the fan.**

Clint held Ron close, his eyes wavering from the magical beings in front of him every so often. Ron's head had rolled to the side towards his shoulder. His breathing slightly labored and his body entirely limp. Clint took deep breaths, attempting to think rationally for his son.

"Unhand our son!" A voice called out. Clint's eyes jumped to a plump red haired woman with an intimidating look on her face, fury clearly evident as well as worry. This was Ron's mother? So the older man must be his...father. The word tasted bitter in his mouth as he thought it. Damn, the little baby bird really had dug in deep to his heart. Nest built there for years and wasn't coming out ever.

But the two younger men that stood next to them perplexed Clint. They could've been children of Ron's biological parents, but why wait so long for another child when these two were clearly so much older? Living in the circus he was far more used to the long line of children all close in age, or just two children a little further in age. Perhaps cousins was more likely.

"Mum!" One stage whispered to try and get her attention. Well, there went the cousin theory.

It was odd to see the eldest red haired man have an aged and weary expression. A sigh escaped his lips as he took a tentative step forward. Natasha reacted quickly to the small movement, aiming her gun at his chest. The man stopped in his tracks, though all eyes were now all him. His eyes met Clint's with concern but a lack of hatred his wife seemed to have simmering in spades.

"Is Ronald alright?" he asked. Clint blinked and held Ron a little closer, making his weight rest on Clint's chest rather than his arm.

"He should be," Clint responded rather civil, "Once he gets some rest. And a couple chocolate bars," he added with a touch of humor.

"Arthur what are you doing? This mad man has your son!" An auror hissed, who seemed to know Arthur fairly well. Arthur didn't react to the auror. Instead, much to the shock of everyone in the room, he spoke again to the man holding his long lost son.

"I-I don't believe we know each other. I am Arthur Weasley, this my wife Molly, and our two eldest boys Bill and Charlie," he spoke in a strong, if not worried tone. The room was on edge, not knowing what was happening.

"Clint Barton. My partner, here with the guns, and our higher up, Agent Coulson," he responded just as calm despite the growing tension while keeping Natasha's name out of the chaos. Just in case someone knew of her infamous bleeding ledger, "Though I don't think this is the first time we've met."

"Ah," Arthur responded as everyone looked at Clint as though he confessed to kidnapping the young red head, "Yesterday. First with the aurors, and the second time with Rita."

"The photographer?"

"Interviewer."

The moment was oddly surreal as the men spoke. Perhaps if Ron wasn't so close to Clint, Arthur would've attempted to attack him, but he studied muggle relics. He had read about guns and their dangers. A kill could be instant. A muggle Avada Kedavra. One unaware person though, a newbie most likely, took the talking period as a chance to get the jump on the strange attackers/prisoner/kidnapper/whoever they were, and struck.

"Expelliamus!"

The light of the spell moved quickly, like a viper striking. It's aim at the woman with two weapons. But the woman shocked the room by being quicker. Contorting her body back and moving her weapons. A loud bang echoed in the room and the young man who cast the spell fell onto the ground, grasping his arm in pain, wailing when he felt blood pouring from his fresh wound, blood pouring from his shoulder. A few aurors went to him and put pressure on the wound.

"He'll live," Natasha said offhandedly, "If I wanted to kill him, he would be dead."

That did nothing to calm the jittery magic users, but it did its job of making them hesitate to try and attack. But just but just in case Coulson spoke out.

"I'd listen to her. She is one of our best agents," Coulson choke as though he were talking about a pleasant day rather than a trained assassin.

"So it would seem," a different voice broke in. Airy, a bit aged, defined by a whimsical underlying tone, coming from the old man who entered with a minister Fudge. Coulson gave a smile to the Merlin look-a-like, while the old man's eyes seemed to twinkle with a curious knowing, "Perhaps it would be good for us all to sit down and have some tea and sweets. I myself, find it is easier to talk when everyone is able to speak from the same vantage."

Phil, Natasha and Clint didn't trust the man, but doubted they would get a better offer-

"And I'm sure young Ronald would perfer not to be standing as he rests."

"Ron. He prefers to be called Ron," Clint said after a moment. Guns still pointed at the ready, neither side willing to give in, even with a possible out. Though what followed it may heave been for the best when a door flew open with a grand "Notice me" entrance from the last person anyone expected to see. Standing tall with a devil may care smirk on his face was Tony Stark, followed by a sheepish Bruce Banner and a wide eyed Hermione Granger.

The universe just had to say fuck you didn't it?

Bruce looked shocked, jumpy and a little green appearing in his cheeks as he tried to take in calming breaths. Hermione didn't.

"Ron!" she cried out and began running towards the archer. Natasha tilted her head slightly but didn't move her guns from the magical users. Bruce tried to follow after his Ward, but his skin threatened to turn even more green, making him close his eyes and focus on his breathing. The magical users were surprised to see the young girl make it through unharmed.

It went unnoticed to the magical users as well as the agents when Neville got his grandmother's attention.

"What is it Neville?" She questioned in a harsh tone. She wasn't intending to be mean, but the world seemed to be going to hell right before them.

"Well isn't this a nice little shindig. That's what you British people say right? And Agent? You're alive? I spouted a one liner for you. We'll talk later. Whatever-" Tony began to speak.

Neville gave his grandmother a pleading look as Tony rambled, "Ron's my friend. And I don't think he's okay," he began as Hermione looked over Ron, looking quite shaken, a look no young child should ever have, "And my mum and I were showing Hermione and her dad around Diagon Alley. I need to see if he's really going to be okay."

His grandmother stared at her grandson with fear and pride. She feared for him, and felt pride at his need to assist those he cared for. The courage for defying the odds. A true mark of a Gryffindor.

"-but you know, all in all, it's about time for bird brain and his kid to make their way back to their nest."

Neville smiled at his Grandmother before making his way over to his American friend carefully. He was a little surprised that Clint noticed him, but even more so when he rolled his eyes and with his head, gave a half assed gesture that he could come over.

Meanwhile, Molly was livid at Tony and his audacity to barge in on their family matter and claim that their child was not her's and Arthur's progeny. Her nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed, her wand now ready and aimed and the man in a well made muggle suit.

"How dare you insinuate he is not my son!" she screeched. Her voice dominating and was no doubt terrifying. Her attention drawn to the smug bastard before her even as others were shocked to see the youngest Longbottom dart forward, a little awkward with his run but quick enough.

"I carried him for months inside me. I gave birth to him and held him close-"

The agents gave him a quick glance, but allowed passage to Clint, Ron and Hermione. As it was, it almost appeared as though Clint had a human shield of children, his gun well over their heads as they focused on the unconscious boy in his arms.

"-before he was _stolen_ from us, kidnapped, before his second birthday-"

He grabbed her wrist, suprising Hermione only to give her a small smile. It didn't go unnoticed to the aurors that Clint now had a virtual human shield made from three children, his gun over their heads. Along with his body from about his upper chest and shoulders up.

"What's your point?" Tony asked with little concern. With the slight sway he had, it was very possible that he was not as sober as he should be.

"He is my son. He coming home with us."

Tony snorted, "Clearly, a boy who runs back to the man who's raised him away from you, should _clearly_ stay with you."

"You-!"

Neville wasn't listening to Mrs. Weasley anymore. Ron couldn't be her son. He was Clint's son. He saw how they both cared and loved each other. It reminded him of him and his mum. The noise was roaring between the hushed planning of the aurors, the Weasleys trying to stay strong, and keep Mrs. Weasley fairly calm, and the snarkiness of the man who walked in with Hermione and her dad, or at least the man she walked through Diagon Alley with.

Neville just wanted them to be quiet. He wanted them all to stop fighting. From the roar of disagreement between self and opponent, no word could be heard. Each voice had grown silent. Hermione looked at him and whispered, "They stopped?"

Her voice was far louder than it should have been. The room was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Breathing from Ron was the only noise they noticed. Neville swallowed and turned his head, unknowingly getting the same expression on his face as Clint.

Both were amazed as people tried to speak, but their voices were failing them. Each flabbergasted. Especially the matriarch of the Weasley clan if her ever reddening face was an indication. The old man with an amazing beard pulled out his own wand and cast a spell, returning his own voice.

"I believe that it would be pertinent, if we all stop attacking one another. Young, Mr. Weasley is unharmed. And I am sure we all wish for everyone to remain that way."

Clint and Natasha were amazed as the magical people listened to him, including the minister. The Weasleys, while having mixed emotions of rage and concern, were not trying to attack them, for now.

But it was when Coulson nodded his head did Natasha and Clint ease up, while Banner began to lose the green in his cheeks. Tony, Bruce, and Hermione were guided to one room, Neville and his grandmother, to another, while Clint, Natasha, Phil, the Weasleys, the Minster, the bearded wonder man, and a few aurors into the other.

No one was certain as to what would happen. But it would change their lives. They were all certain.

* * *

Ron groaned as he rolled into the warmth of the body next to him. He was curled up, with his head on someone's lap. He felt safe and content if not a little stiff and sore. His body woke slowly as he smelt his Aunt Tasha's gun powder and freshly printed paper documents along with leather and sweat. A hand seemed to stroke his hair in a soothing motion. His eyes opened slowly, a groggy misty blue eye opened to see his dad looking fierce whoever was in front of him.

There was a tenseness in the room somewhat akin to when he had overheard his Uncle Nick telling his dad he would have to go on a mission that would make him miss his birthday. For the first time. When he was seven. The other time he was nine but they both took it a lot better. Ron opened his other eye and turned his head slightly. His eyes looked toward where his dad was glaring. They were in a seemingly round room. Across the room there sat a man he had never seen before trying to listen to an even older man, who looked like a story book wizard, while also trying to keep calm a determined red haired woman. Molly. He noticed that behind her was her husband Arthur, and the two eldest boys, Bill and Charlie.

Ron was honestly surprised no me was killing each other. That being said, what the hell was going on?

"Good to see you're awake sleeping beauty," a familiarly snarky voice greeted him. He looked over to see his Aunt Tasha win an almost unseen smirk on her lips. Her eyes held a wicked spark though. Not intended for him, but for whoever she was glancing at after speaking to him. It was then he saw who stood, obscured at first glance but clear as day now that he stared.

"Aunt Tasha? Uncle Phil?"

Phil gave a terse grin at Ron.

"Hello Ron."

Ron felt joy and anger well up inside him. Joyful that Phil was alive, but angered that he had been to,d he was dead and had mourned him up until seeing him alive. But neither took his face as they conflicted for dominance. Instead his face became blank.

"Ronal- Ron? How are you feeling? Sore anywhere? In any pain?" Bill asked. Ron looked over at him confused. In pain? Ron had barely any idea what was going on. He was at the Weasley home... Yelled at them... And he remembered hiding away in the bathroom wanting his dad. And then... Pain? He couldn't really remember what else happened.

Though there were a few things he was certain of right now. He looked up at his dad, the first thing he was certain of. He was here. Wherever here was anyway. His Aunt Tasha and Uncle Phil were tense and ready to fight, even dirtier than when his aunt sparred with his dad. The Weasleys seemed worried. And two strangers were in the room with them.

Ron didn't say anything though, as he opened his mouth, his stomach growled, much to his embarrassment. His face flushed and his ears felt as though they were burning. His dad chuckled and patted his stomach.

"Guess someone is a little hungry. Your eating schedules a bit off isn't it?"

"Uh huh," Ron said dumbly surpring the Weasleys with how calm and simple his words were around the ones who had him. He moved his hand toward his stomach when he saw something alarming. Each of his fingers were wrapped in gauze, as well as his toes. A smell from the bandages assaulted his nose as a bitter substance coated them. His face must have said it all when Arthur Weasley spoke.

"We were worried. You seemed to splich from our bathroom. You left your nails behind," he explained, "We had no idea where you had gone."

Ron may not have been familar with the splich word thing, but he did remember when he had teleported to Strange's Sactum and had lost his finger nails in the process. Did he teleport out of the- oh he did. He remembered being in his dad's arms, being in pain and really angry before everything turned dark.

So, he teleported to his dad, lost his nails, and was now in some room with his family and his _family_ and they were not actively trying to kill one another. That was a plus. Ron wouldn't want his family to be attacked by the British government or a tenseness to occur between America and Britain. Or more specifically, anything dealing with magic against anything affiliated with SHIELD.

"Oh," Ron finally said after a moment to process his thoughts as well as respond to Arthur, "What's going on then?"

There was a tenseness when the younger stranger spoke up.

"There has been a... Development, in your... Legal situation."

Ron lifted his head and stared at the man. What the hell was he-?

"Does this mean I can go back home with my dad?"

It didn't go unnoticed by everyone in the room, how the atmosphere darkened, tears were welling in Molly Weasley's eyes. Even his Aunt Tasha looked grim.

"Young man, you need to understand. This- This is an international incident. You are a British citizen of her royal highness's land by birth," he began. The older man stepped in, his breath airy and perhaps at times, even whimsical.

"But you have been raised in a delicate situation. Raised among American soldiers," he began, ignoring the mild glares from Natasha, Phil and Clint, "And knowing another country's possible secrets."

"There has been a discussion and we believe it best, that a jury of peers should assist in deciding what is best."

Ron's eyes widened. They were going to court.

"W-Why? Why can't I go home? Dad? This can't be right. There must be something-" he began rambling as he sat up. His dad cupped his cheek gently to bring his attention to him, his eyes dimmer and a little worried.

"Remember when you were little, and I told you that you weren't born in America?"

Ron nodded despite not remembering the details. He knew he once didn't know. And then once he did, it wasn't much different, so it was as if he always knew. And as far as Ron was concerned, he was an American. And America was once a British colony. And it had its independence for centuries. So why couldn't he be an American with his dad, the one who watched over those who colonized or made him?

"Well, by common laws, you would be returned to your biological parents- however," he interrupted Ron before he could speak, "because of my ever so fantastical job," he exaggerated making Ron smile, "I will get to say my piece, along with the Weasleys. We all want what's best for you. But we don't agree on what that is."

Ron was a bit surprised that the Weasleys didn't interrupt his dad. Instead, the males seemed to agree. Molly seemed to want nothing more than to avoid trial like Ron did. But both wanted different outcomes, she wanted him within the walls of the country cottage home, and he, back to the quarters of a modernized set of living quarters. He was drawn out of his thoughts when his dad begins to move his hand in a practiced and familiar motions. He was signing something he didn't want the Weasleys to hear.

' _Do you want to stay here with them Ron?'_ He signed. Ron gave his dad a baffled state and signed back.

' _I want to stay with you, dad. Please don't give me up.'_

 _'Never. I will always watch over and protect you.'_

 _"_ What are they doing?" Charlie questioning, watching Ron respond with hand gestures to the man's arm movements.

"Clint's hearing aid probably died," Natasha stated. The magic users looked confused as Ron gave his dad a playful glare. His hands gestured a little more frantic. Clint chuckled and ruffled his hair.

"Eh, fading in and out. Got to look face to face so I can read their lips."

"Hearing aid?" Arthur Weasley questioned taking a step forward, "What is it's function exactly?"

"So one who has trouble hearing can hear better," Natasha stated bluntly. Arthur eemed to ignore her callousness as his own curiousity came forth.

"Fascinating. And is it kept on his person? A system perhaps? Or does it run on some form of over seas magic?"

"A battery. It's an electrical device," Natasha states.

Ron signs to his dad who in return sighs and puts his hands to his right ear, pulling a small device out. He handed it to Ron, who held it gently, and turned to face Arthur, showing the small device in his hand. Molly huffed slightly as her husband was thoroughly fascinated by the small device.

"This looks like a muggle contraption," he gasped looking at it. Electricity, battery, all very muggle.

"Well, it is," Phil spoke clearly, "Ron only learned he was a magic person a few years ago."

Minister Fudge choked on his spit.

"Excuse me? Muggle?!" His eyes were wide and his face was scandalous. His face paled as Phil gave a devious and knowing smile.

"Yes. I tried to tell you. He's an American Agent with no magical abilities who has been raising a boy found I. Europe for the past decade or so without any sighting of his family searching for him."

Molly's nostrils flared and not even the males of her family could hold her back.

"How dare you insinuate we didn't search for Ron. That we ever gave up looking for our baby."

"I didn't say that ma'am. But this is from what we could gather with our agents searching all of accessible Europe."

They were possible fighting words to some, and obviously Molly was one who would take the bait had Ron's unhappy stomach not interrupted everyone, sans Clint's, thinking and actions. His face flushed once more and he rubbed the back of his neck. Molly seemed to simmer down a touch knowing that one of her babies needed something she could easily, and was more than happy to provide, a decent meal to put some meat on those bones.

 **Welcome to hell. Please, grab your torch and pitchforks. Chaos. Chaos all around.**

 **In reality, this was going to go further, but then the scenes seemed to grow longer... And longer... And longer some more. And, uh... I'll update when I can, as many of you can imagine the next chapter is going to be insane.**

 **Please review everyone, especially if you know anything about international custody laws. It's a mess in America and its pretty hard to find the laws for Britain.**


	28. As the gavel falls

**Now as I am sure many of you either know or have guessed, I know practically nothing about law. That being said I have searched for what I need for this story. A little over** **one year ago, I knew exactly what I wanted for this story. One year ago I had posted the first chapter of this story. The resolve remains the same as it did then. Never once doubted or questioned as I continued to write this. Will some of you hate it? Most likely. But this what I had planned from the beginning. As horribly shocking as it may be for some readers.**

 **Warning: This is a far from accurate representation of the legal court room system. Please bare with me.**

Had it really been less than a week ago that he had been blissfully alive and happy with his family in America? It felt so much further away. He had been through so much. Returning to his ancestral land, discovering his biological family, reuniting with his dad while losing his nails, feeling that tingly spell that made them grow back, and now preparing for his day in court. Behind his back, everyone seemed to be planning for something big. He knew his custody was a big deal for him, he didn't think he could ever ignore these past few days ever. The worst part was, the need to keep him separate from his dad.

He wasn't supposed to "live" with either possible outcome until the court had made its ruling. So, in order to keep him unbiased, they placed him in an unbiased home. While Ron was at first skeptical, he realized there was one person who was unbiased, much to everyone's surprise.

Alice Longbottom. Long time friend of Molly Weasley, avid traveler, and caring mother who had seen Clint be a wonderful father in a time of crisis.

Molly was thrilled at first that such a good family friend would be watching Ron in this unsettling time, but became livid when she discovered that her friend wasn't sure who Ron should go with for his sake and was only chosen because of that very indecisiveness. Ron didn't know the conversation between the two. Only that Alice had returned with misty eyes and heavy breaths. She hid what she could so Ron would hold no bias from her, but he could tell that Molly had a sharp tongue. Perhaps not in a traditional way to make one feel stupid, but a deeper underlying emotional one. One that could be easily overlooked, even by the speaker.

Ron noted it somewhere in his mind as he played card games with Neville in his bedroom. Hermione couldn't visit without supervision, nor could any of his family or the Avengers. On the plus side, the law was a double edged sword, the Weasleys couldn't visit without a proper set of aurors there as well. And there had to be one for everyone who wanted to see him at the same time. And since no one wanted to be left behind, it meant a longer time to gather aurors who would be unbiased, or heaven forbid, American.

So as it was, his family had taken turns coming to see him, no more than three people at a time but they rotated so he could see everyone, except Tony who, according to his dad, was making some special calls. So far, it had been six days since he had stepped back into England since his infancy.

He had visits daily from his family. And a visit daily from at least Molly and Arthur with one day with their hoard of children. As overwhelming as it had been, he felt ashamed to admit, he did enjoy interacting with his numerous siblings in a way he had never known he could feel. An elation.

Why was interacting with different people made him feel differently, just based on age? He had met people aboard the Helicarrier who had similar traits to the Weasley progeny. Bill and Charlie kind of reminded him of Uncle Phil and Uncle Nick with their patience, their control and the ability to possibly diffuse a situation. Fred and George reminded him of Auntuncle Fitzsimmons, always together, more than a little goofy, and far smarter than an initial glance could show. At least, if the twins' pranks were any indication. Ginny and Percy though, they felt like the two sides of his Aunt Tasha. Emotional and intimidating on one hand, fiercely intellectual on the other.

He wasn't replacing his family, honest. His heart still held his family fondly. But it still felt odd how similar they were. He tried to think about it, but he was never all that good on reflecting about his emotions. Most agents didn't show emotions, at least to him. And a large percentage of those who did, made sure to be pleasant, hiding negativities from the child in the sky. Who could really blame him if he had trouble figuring out what he was feeling when he was only eleven and had the teachings from people who had the emotional capacity of a teaspoon. Actually, that was probably being lenient. He knew more emotional teaspoons sitting in Tony's kitchen.

But that was hardly the point. He was just distracting himself for the day ahead. As well as the upcoming period of the trial. He grimaced as he thought of Hermione. She was to be going to school in about three weeks time. She would be learning magic and making friends. She should be bottled up crazy and tearing through her books, thrilled to learn each and everything she could like the genius she was.

Instead she was dressed in a proper and sophisticated dress while Bruce wore a suit, most likely given by Tony. Come to think of it, he may have purchased everyone's outfit. Even his own.

Alice fussed over making sure his own dress shirt wasn't wrinkled, it was sent by an odd little owl with a sticker having the address on it. Something so contradictory to what he had seen from British wizards.

The shirt was a deep red color, not Iron Man red, a little darker. Perhaps one might call it maroon. It didn't clash with his hair like other reds did, according to his Aunt Tasha at least, but there was something offsetting about the color. Ron wasn't quite sure what it was though. Still, he had slipped it on as Neville prepared in his dress robes, followed by Alice quickly donning her own, as well as pinning her hair back and out of her face.

As they left her home through the floo network, she looked pained but hardened. Neville seemed to know why, but didn't answer Ron's unasked question. They walked through the ministry until the "welcoming" committee greeted and escorted Ron to a seperate room to speak with his representatives.

"Mum?"

"Yes Neville?" she asked in a subdued tone, so unlike her fierceness he had grown up seeing at her forefront.

"Why aren't we helping Mr. Barton? Ron's his son isn't he?"

It was a burning question everyone had their own answer for. Everyone except Alice it seemed.

"It's complicated Neville. He did raise him. But Arthur and Molly didn't get a chance to. They never wanted to give him up. They never stopped searching."

"Is that why you are watching Ron?"

"I am. Neville, the hardest thing in life is to stand and fight. It's even harder when you have to fight a friend. But sometimes, you have to," she commented softly near the end. Neville still heard those words, and they seemed to linger in his thoughts. Taking root as his mind was the fertile garden to remember.

* * *

It had been a long week. Clint was used to shit hitting the fan on missions that went wrong, but this took the cake in his life. He was fighting for a son he had not asked for, but had found and been blessed to keep over the years, and still had all his limbs from his missions.

Though still, with all that, he wondered if he was doing the right thing. He couldn't help but remember when the opposing side had spoken to him earlier in the week...

 _Clint glared at the offending paper before him. The document was simple. He had thought it had changed his life at the time, hopefully for the better. But it did leave an awful taste in his mouth as he reread the form. It had been signed right when he had joined. His contract to SHIELD. His very pledge to the government to uphold._

 _And possibly the document he should have remembered in all his years caring for Ron. Presented by an auror by no doubt extreme means._

 _He had signed this before Ron, it was in his job description that he was to avoid emotional attachments to a mission. Ron, the little boy he had been raising for years, the kid who got in trouble, used magic on a semi regular basis, and liked to see him shoot his bow and arrow, who even called him dad... Was his mission. One he had been invested in from the moment he had saved his life. And it was by his choice._

 _Hindsight was always twenty-twenty anyway. He could have returned to the small village he had been close to. He could have found authorities and given the child to them, to find his family. But he didn't. Instead he took him out of the area and overseas. He searched along with other agents, but not one proved successful. Now he knew why._

 _He couldn't say he didn't try early on. But Ron became so much more than just a mission. How does one not get attached to a child when they are taking care of them, feeding, clothing, playing, checking for monsters under the bed and in the closet... Fuck, people working at orphanages must have hearts of steel or something. Because even he couldn't avoid becoming attached to the little cuddly red haired child._

 _He had said it before, but now he'd have to prove it, not just to those he'd be presenting the case to, but himself. Was he really a father. Ron's father even if not by blood? Oh why did he have to have an identity crisis now of all times? This would be an identity crisis right? What else would you call not knowing who you were in life?_

 _"You can end this now you know. Allow the Weasleys to take Ron back home and return to America," a wizarding British lawyer stated. Clint of course couldnt hear him, his battery had yet to be replaced in his hearing aid. Clint's mind went back to Ron signing, begging him not to leave him behind. He couldn't abandon him. But would it be abandoning if he was left with his family. Clint's head really hurt from all this. Thankfully he didn't need to say anything. Because the man talking to him jumped, getting Clint's attention to another man entering the room. He spoke with his lips towards Clint, clear and fluid motions with each word he said._

 _"Mr. Barton, don't say anything. I am your representative, Pheonix Wright."_

 _Clint blinked. He couldn't help himself by asking, "Pheonix Wright Ace Attorney?"_

 _The man gave him a look and sighed._

 _"You help a guy out one time and he portrays you in a video game," he appeared to grumble, his teeth clenched but his lips moving enough to follow. Now that Clint was focused on him, he could see a startling resemblance between the game character and the man before him. Granted the man before him was older, had a bit of a five-o'clock shadow, some grey in his hair that was not as sharp as the pictures... But wholy he looked like the animated Pheonix Wright._

 _"A moment please?" he gestured toward the auror who left the room with a tight expression. Pheonix sat down across from Clint, his elbows rested on the table, his hands folded upward unintentionally covering his mouth. He said something but Clint couldn't read his lips to understand him. So, he most likely interrupted him with a sigh._

 _"Look, I can't hear you all that well. Mind dropping your hands a bit?"_

 _Pheonix's eyes softened slightly as he obliged saying, "So you are deaf."_

 _Clint shrugged his shoulders. He had long since accepted being deaf back before he had Ron to take care of._

 _"Just a confirmation Mr. Barton."_

 _"Of course."_

 _"It rests easier on my mind. Now Mr. Barton, we are working to secure batteries for you, however, many muggle batteries do lose their charge faster in a magically saturated environment. Therefore, we have contacted an interpreter from America for you during the case."_

 _Clint gave a tired grin._

 _"Thanks. You didn't have to though," he commented._

 _"Kind of had to given your condition. Now pursuing against the count of kidnapping..."_

* * *

The Weasley siblings were gathered in silence in Bill's room. A seldom moment of peace and agreement. No fighting. No pranks on one another. Just as much peace as they could muster. They made the decision based on the chaos they were going to go through once Bill, Charlie and Percy were permitted to enter the court room.

Fred, George and Ginne were considered too young and were not needed as witnesses or victims to be made exceptions. With their magic still a bit chaotic, accidental magic was not unheard of from children who had to be in court. So children under the age of fourteen were given the bare minimum of time required in cases that effected them in order to avoid any disastrous magical incidents. As it happened to be even Percy was only in there after lots of discussion with their parents and with officials in the ministry. Age limits for magic users did prove to suit well, considering a few instances with shattering glass not being avoided and causing some horridly deep cuts.

"Best of luck," George murmured.

"Keep Ron calm will you? Don't want him up and vanishing on us again," Fred added.

"See you all later," Ginny spoke clearly though obviously tired from the past week.

"We'll be fine."

"Bill, Charlie, Percy!" their mother called out, "It's time to go."

The eldest trio gave comforting smiles as they left the room to floo to the ministry. For a long day in court to retrieve their long lost baby brother. The younger three waited in the house, Fred and George let Ginny help them pack for school, something they never would have done had they not needed a distraction.

"Got the Dungbombs?"

"Yep."

"Itching powder?"

"Yep!"

"You know mum will kill you if she finds out that you're taking those to school," Ginny commented with a wicked grin. The twins grinned back. Matching smiles on each of their faces.

"That's why we do it now," George joked with as much seriousness as he could muster.

"Oy! George. Where'd you put the joy buzzer?"

"Joy buzzer?" Ginny asked. She had heard of other substances and devices from her tricky brothers before, but what in Merlin's sakes was a joy buzzer?

"Top drawer!" George responded to Fred. Fred ransacked the drawer to pull out a small device attached to a piece of fabric. Ginny's eyes widened slightly.

"That's a muggle item. Isn't it?"

"Uh huh. Dad brought it back from being in muggle England-"

"-when he was dealing with a teapot that kept squirting hot water on the muggles."

Ginny arched a brow at her brothers. Fred slipped it on his hand, the muggle device rather easy to ignore as he held out his hand. She eyes him warily. Fred's grin only grew.

"Are you afraid of a muggle prank Gin-Gin?" he playfully mocked. Ginny scowled at her brother and took his hand. She yelped as she felt a surge pulse through her arm. Her arm jolted away from her chuckling brothers.

"Joy buzzer!"

"How can that bring any kind of joy?"

"Well, it was pretty fun on our end."

"Ginny... It was just a joke."

"Don't be mad- Ack!"

"Bloody hell Gin! Stop with the Bat-Boogey hex!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she grinned innocently as her brothers moved about frantically. George was glaring at his sister for a moment before being afflicted by a harsh wave of the curse, "I don't have a wand after all. And I'm prone to accidental magic."

"That is crap! George! Get my wand!"

"Do you even know how to undo it?"

"I've seen mum do it! I can handle it!"

"Without these?"

"Ginny! Give us back our wands!"

Needless to say, they knew they'd probably be in trouble later for the bout of chaos. But it was so worth it as the pent up energy exploded out in the attempted to be held back prank war.

* * *

"So why can't I go in?" Ron asked sitting in a seperate room. The case had begun. He knew the time and therefore, knew the case started.

"You are to have minimal time in there. Your magic is untrained and could be detrimental if you become overly stressed. Especially in this kind of situation," his American representative told him with great patience dispite the slight irritation from his clenched jaw, "It's one of the more controversial designs of the British system."

Ron didn't really care. But he needed something to distract himself from his sweaty palms and unsteady heartbeat, "Oh?"

His representative raised a brow at Ron's supposed curiousity, but continued as if both of them really cared about the differences between British court and the American court.

"In America, we have medi-witches on standby in case any child's magic acts up in a harmful manner. So they may remain in the courtroom as long as they feel they can emotionally take it."

"Really?"

The man nodded. Ron wasn't sure what he would perfer. Being able to see his dad and the ups and downs of the trial, or sitting in solitude away from the Weasley hoard and avoid the ups and downs of the trial. Neither seemed to be something he could say he wanted. He was silently thankful that the choice was made for him to minimalize, so he could argue later they never gave him a chance to be in there if he felt the need later. The doors opened before them, signaling them to enter the room. The room itself was large, dark and intimidating, people sat listening, judgements already made in a few of their eyes.

He glared in distain. One woman was especially unnerving with a pointed upward nose, short, curled professionally styled hair, and a face that reminded Ron of a toad. A distinct sense of loathing filled his very being. He wanted to wipe that smug all-knowing grin off her face. The only people who could use that look in his opinion, were people who knew they could be jerks and flaunted it to either prove points or for amusement. Not because they genuinely assumed they knew everything. Like his Uncle Nick or Uncle Phil.

Ron ignored her and the rest of the people and gave a small smile when he saw his dad, only to see his dad's brief look of worry and grief, only to melt away to controlled comfort.

With slight concern, he sat in the chair presented to him. It was hard and uncomfortable. Or maybe that was just him wanting to move around and leave the room.

"The court recognizes Ronald Billius Weasley to the stand-"

"Billius?" Ron interruptted rather flabbergasted, "My middle name is _Billius_?"

"Please remain silent unless answering a question Mr. Weasley."

"It's Ron," Ron growled out. He was not liking this man. Even if he was the judge. Especially if he was part of the reason he could be taken from his dad.

"Ronald, where have you been living the past years of your life?"

"America."

"Could you be more specific? An address perhaps."

"1234 up in the sky, the SHIELD Helicarrier, United States of America," he snarked. Clint snorted when the interpreter signed what Ron had said and attempted to look innocent when the attorney to turned to glare at him.

"And where would that be located Ronald?"

"In the sky? It usually is in the sky."

"You said usually. Where is it when it's not in the sky?"

"On the ground? Not many other places to go from the sky to."

"So this "Ship" of yours... Is it still up in the sky now?"

Ron scowled at the man. It was common knowledge even to everyday people that the ship had been badly damaged, and had to be rebuilt altogether.

"It's in repair."

"So you're currently living in a broken ship with your kidnapper?"

"Objection! Leading witness!"

"Please rephrase."

"So, Ronald. You are living in a broken ship?"

"No. I'm currently living with my _dad_ in Stark Tower, located in New York, New York."

"Do you know Mr. Stark well?"

"Objection. Relevance?"

"I'll allow it."

"No sir. I do not know Mr. Stark well. But he did save my dad. And the world," he replied cheekily.

"But neither you nor your father know Mr. Stark well, and yet you live with a man notorious for his drunken exploits?" he more stated than asked.

"He's know really well as Iron Man, billionaire, and philan-philat- Phil-an-tro-phist," he worked out.

The court remained perplexed as questions continued with Ron responding in some cheeky manner. Tony was smirking with his defending of the infamous playboy. And chuckled when it came to defending the other Avengers. It was also interesting as he grew seemingly more confident as he continued. That is, until questioned about his younger years.

"My dad told me I adopted when I asked about a kid on board the ship. I had heard agents mention a kid that was taken in by an ex circus performer. I was curious and he told me how he had found me in a forest, being carried to who knows where by who knows. But my dad heard her heard someone mention something about causing me harm," he answered one of his questions, "From there he took me to a safe house and called my Uncle Phil to go back to America."

"So you have lived in America ever since?" he questioned. There was an odd glint in his eye. Ron didn't like it. Glints were tells. Usually seen among young agents, or agents using the most subtle of intimidation as if to warn a person that they held the upper hand.

"Yes sir. American raised. Proud of it too."

"And you never once asked to be returned to your parents, Arthur and Molly Weasley?"

"I never remembered them-"

"So you couldn't say you had consent to stay with Mr. Barton when he is the only one you can remember."

Ron's jaw snapped shut, his teeth grinding against each other as he attempted to control his emotions.

"Well Ronald?"

"I never asked to go back to them. I love America. I love my dad. I've been curious about my birth family, but what child isn't curious about where they came from?"

"And that nothing to do with Mr. Barton's... Occupation?"

"No. It doesn't have anything with what my dad does for my country."

"So your father is a soldier?"

"Of sorts. He's a government employee who serves his nation."

"Does he work in the army? Your coast guard? Air Force?"

"He's an agent for the government. He performs covert operations."

"So you're kept with a man who performs dangerous missions hidden away inside the equivalent of a military base high above muggle viewing?"

"Most if not all viewing actually. But I perfer to think of it as a housing unit to keep me safe along with all of my dad's coworkers."

"A housing unit that carries weapons, poisons, and criminals?"

"It's a city in the sky. Sure there are problems but every city's got them."

It was bizzare to Ron how the court system seemed to work. At least for him. The questions were odd, and mostly dealt with his mentality. Wouldn't this be done by a psychiatrist or whatever and told the court? Other than being the person effected... What was his purpose here?

"And yet not returning to England once the threat had passed here?"

Something boiled in Ron. Threat passed? What in the world were they talking about? His life had been on the line. He slammed his hands on the arm rests of the chair he was sitting in. His eyes narrowed and he appeared livid.

"What threat passing?! What were we supposed to know?! I didn't even know I had magic until someone outside my family told us! Professor Xavier told my uncle I wasn't a mutant so what was I supposed to think? I was a little more worried about what I was doing while I was safe in America instead of worrying about people a freaking ocean away!"

The effect was immediate. People began to speak to one another with hushed voices among just about everyone but the people who were sided with his dad. Ron didn't like it.

He had noticed, the toad in pink coughed, more fake than any cough he had heard, gathering the attention of those around her. A sickening smile appeared on her face eerily similar to the Grinch as he stole Christmas in Whoville.

"A young wizard with two living magical parents, living with a muggle?" she spoke in a sickeningly sweet sounding voice, "That is against at least seven wizarding ordinances."

"Those are all circumstantial ordinances at best!"

"Order!" the judge slammed his gavel down quieting the group. Ron raised a brow at the apparent chaos. SHIELD meetings ran with more order. Not that he had snuck through the air vents into their meeting area to try and learn what they got him for Christmas or anything...

"So Ronald, you know nothing about our culture here in Britian?"

"I understand _British_ terms and customs, I just don't get British _Wizarding_ rules and customs. It's all backwards and upside down, inside out and chaotic. Personally I'm perfectly happy being an American magic user."

"That will be all," the man grumbled. Ron raised his hands, gesturing in front of himself.

"Did that actually mean anything? What was the point of that?"

"Calm down Mr. Weasley. The court holds it's purpose."

Ron grumbled about the name usage as a man, surprisingly like Pheonix Wright walked up to him.

"Ron, you have lived with your father for how long?" the man asked calmly.

"Objection! Leading the jury!"

"Sustained. Mr. Wright?"

"My apologies. Ron, how long have you been living with Mr. Barton?" Wright asked. Ron smiled.

"Nine years... In November."

"That's a long time. How old are you now?"

"Eleven."

"So he's been raising you since you were about one and a half years old then."

"That's right."

"And he's a muggle man?"

"He doesn't have magic."

"And you do."

"I do."

"How did he react to you having magic?"

"Shocked. I think. He was comforting me right after though. He was holding me very close, like he was worried."

"Worried how?"

"Like he was worried for me. Like someone would pop in and snatch me away. He called someone who specialized in mutations, to see if I was a mutant."

"And you're not?"

"No. But my dad took each incident with stride. So did my Aunts and Uncles."

"Mr. Barton's brothers and sisters?"

"No. His good friends, and the agents that regularly came to help take care of me."

"Were there a lot of agents you called Aunt and Uncle?"

"A few. There are a lot of agents, and not all of them were my Aunts and Uncles."

"So you have a close bond with a select few?"

"Yes. They know about my powers, would be comforting, make jokes, and take care of me. They are my family."

Ron heard a choked and sad sounding gasp but ignored it. They were his family. What else was there to say but that?

"A family that has raised you for years. One that you didn't pick, and yet you wish to remain with them, is that correct?"

"Obviously."

"That will be all. Please escort Mr. Weasley to the back room. Will Doctor Stephen Strange take the stand-"

"Strange?" Ron questioned turning his head, a hand guided him out the room as he saw a familiar and confident sorcerer sit in the same seat he had been in prior. He gave a smile to his teacher to be as he exited the court room.

* * *

Ron nearly leapt for joy when he saw Neville and Hermione waiting in the back room for him. He darted past his escort and hugged them both. Each one hugged him back.

"Oh gosh Ron, are you alright?" Hermione asked, her voice trembling slightly. A studious know it all bookworm she may be, but one of the softest hearts Ron had ever met.

"Was it bad?" Neville asked. Ron shrugged his shoulders.

"There was a lot. I kind of thought, it would be like American court cases."

"You know how the court system works in America?" Hermione questioned.

"Eh. Somewhat. Agents don't really work in the courts, at least, a traditional court. They have... Other means. But I did watch a few shows where they showed court scenes before, and I thought it would be something like that."

"Oh. Well, want to play exploding snap while we wait?"

"Sure. Should we do this everyday during the court time?"

"Ron... They should be making their decision today."

"What! Today?! But isn't this the first day of the trial?"

"First day? Mum told me that trials only last about three days at most," Neville responded, clearly thinking nothing of such a short of court session.

"Why? Why would they? They need evidence, enough time to present information, brief breaks now and then to use the bathroom... In what right mind is one day enough to unfold an entire case?"

"Magical Britian. You might get two though."

"Unbelievable. Unbelievable..."

"Ron, are you alright?"

"Sure! Everything is just wonderful Mione! My world is falling apart in a matter of days right before my eyes. Everything is just fantastic."

"I'm sorry Ron. What else am I supposed to say?"

"I don't know!"

"How about that game of exploding snap?" Neville's interrupted the two.

"Uh sure," Ron said quickly. He was thankful for a distraction from the news that this would be over so quickly. On the one hand, it could mean a return to his normalish life and begin his apprenticeship under Doctor Strange, while receiving and sending letters to Neville and Hermione. But then again... It could also mean less time with his dad and family until he was eighteen, a legal adult, and could join SHIELD. Being surrounded by a gaggle of red heads smothering him each with magic they had known about for their entire life. Each so open with emotion he wasn't quite sure how to deal with it.

Neville had pulled out his deck and had already gotten Hermione ready during Ron's musing.

The three played, tense at first, but flourished into fun lightheartedness. The light magical energy put the three at ease. Soon, laughter echoed through the room as the guards outside remained quiet, one, a bit forlorn at their innocence.

"Surprised none of the younger Weasleys came."

"You know Arthur and Molly, it isn't pleasant being here as it is. They didn't want them acting up or anything."

"Feh. Kid should be with the Weasleys. End of story."

"I don't know. You heard Barton's side state he had been granted Asylum in America for the "persecution" from Death Eaters."

"They were a minority."

"They did threaten his life though."

"He's safe now though. Why stay in America?"

"Come on, he grew up there. Why wouldn't he?"

"Blood is thicker than water."

"The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb."

"Shut up Gary."

* * *

Ron was, not quite happy, but not upset either when he was escorted back with the Longbottom's, to his current living arrangement. He sighed looking out the window into the night. He knew he should be sleeping. He had another possibly equally rough day ahead of him. But his life was in turmoil. He wanted, no needed stability.

He needed something permentant in this storm of life. Just a calm and never changing aspect he could see and feel to be true in his life. Even if it were just softly spoken words. Or maybe, a melody. He closed his eyes and began humming a tune his father had sung before. A tune he had heard on one of his dad's CDs. It was calm, soft and dreary. The tune was older, and yet somehow ageless. Tears pricked at his eyes as he recalled his dad being overly dramatic, making a joke over the drama in the song. Somehow, he could relate to it now more than ever.

He clenched his eyes and whispered it's somber tune softly, "...Take it calmly and serene... It's the famous final scene..."

He took a deep breath and relaxed his face. He tried to think about flying above the city in the Helicarrier. Metal walls and soft pillows. Gun powder and sandalwood scents he tried to recall with fresh cinnamon cookies conflicting from their dessert before. The subtle rose scented soap his Uncle Nick used. Or Uncle Fitz Hawaii Citrus Breeze Secret deodorant. Hey, it was his business if he wanted to smell like Hawaii Citrus Breeze, that was his business, and he have Uncle Phil or Aunt Simmons kicked anybody's butt who said it was girly. Unless it was Uncle Phil and his Old Spice scent.

Subtle scents blending together in his mind's eye as he recalled better times. Happier times. Wisps of magical incidents and science explosions. The memories bleeding together into just raw emotion of joy and sadness in his chest. Just emotion, no thoughts, as he was too tired think anymore.

Fatigue overwhelmed him as he fell into a dreamless slumber.

* * *

Ron was in the back room awaiting the decision of the court, seperate from both Clint and Molly and Arthur. He wasn't alone though. Neville and Hermione on one side while the youngest three Weasleys sat on the other side. Apparently Molly had heard that Ron was allowed to have company, and he only had Neville and Hermione to comfort him. So Fred, Geroge and Ginnie were there alongside him.

Ron had to admit, he was kind of glad they were there. Fred and George were a surprisingly good distraction from the outgoing court room chaos. The regaled the young group of their pranks of epic proportions getting laughter and the occasional reprimand from Hermione making everyone laugh harder. They had been in there for three hours, waiting for the verdict that would no doubt change their lives.

There was no way Fred or George would just let their brother go after just finding him. Even if the court favored Barton, they'd find a way to get him back to Britian... Or perhaps even find a way to America. They had heard that it was booming with energy from their dad telling stories about travelers who became lost inside the ministry and the pranking possibilities were nearly endless.

Ginnie was a bit more subdued. She saw how her brothers acted slightly different when something was involving their newly rediscovered brother. She thought it was all so surreal. Everyone was holding back, trying to get along in ways they would have scoffed at a month or so ago. She didn't like seeing her brothers act so foreign. It made her antsy, like they were going to pull a prank on her and were attempting to lure her into a false sense of security.

Hermione was just settling from her world being flipped upside down from her parents' recent passing. She knew things would change with her coming back to Britian for her magical education, but she was concerned for her new and most likely her best friend with all the chaos surrounding his future. He had been there for her. She would be there for him.

Neville though wanted everyone to get along. He had grown up visiting the Weasleys when his mum had been in Britian for extended periods of time. While he had not been particularly close with any of them, he felt as though they were his friends. Family friends really, but still just basic friends too. Ron was also a friend, not so long lived, but someone so willing to be his friend with no big family push.

Finally, Ron had welcomed any distraction he could get. As chaotic as missions could get according to agents, they were incredible people of habit. And he was no exception, while he was curious about doing everything he could as Strange's upcoming apprentice, he still kept habits and rituals instilled in him by agents and his dad as he grew up.

And distractions were common occurrence among agents. Few asked about missions, most took a distraction of sorts after missions. Ron liked to think he was well versed in the art of distraction given that was all he could do. But it was pretty hard to use when you had to distract yourself.

"Remember when Charlie invited Tonks over?" Fred asked George. George cracked up while Ginny giggled, leaving Ron and Hermione confused. Neville sighed when he realized who they were talking about.

"Charlie's metamorphagus friend right?"

"Yes!"

Neville groaned, but a smile betrayed him.

"What did she do?"

The boys smiled with a certain knowing quality.

"She insisted she was Charlie!"

"Changed her face and everything! Made mum mad though."

"It was great. Even better when she shifted into dad to try and get them both out of trouble."

Ron cracked up laughing as Hermione tried to look offended but still had a sneaky smile trying to take over at the imagery of someone trying to humorously mascarade as another.

It was the scene that the court official walked in on.

"Mr. Ronald Weasley, it's time."

The joy in the air evaporated into nothingness as Ron stood with slightly unsteady and nervous legs. His eyes sparked with fear. He walked forward until two hands grabbed his shoulders. One hand was larger and firmer than the other. He turned his head to see the larger hand belonging to one of the twin Weasley boys. His eyes were full of love and acceptance, "You'll be fine Ron."

He turned his head to the other hand, it was Neville.

"Don't worry."

Ron gave a watery smile as he was led out of the room, down the ominous stone halls and into the court room he had been in just the day before. The collar on his shirt felt tight, constricting around his neck as if to choke the life out of his body. He knew it wasn't real, that his shirt was no different from what it had been the day before, washed between of course. He squinted his eyes as flashes of light blinded him temporarily. Cameras. Very bright ones from wizard paparazzi, and reporters. They really weren't all that different from their non magical counter parts were they?

He heard questions, formless words and orders for better shots. He said nothing, his tongue felt fat and dry in his mouth along with the unseen nonexistant noose around his neck. One reporter he recognized was not perturbed by his lack of speech. She began to fire more questions. Attempting to egg him into a response. He sent her what he hoped was a frosty glare. It was more like a pout though.

He wasn't with the reporters very long, though his vision was spotty from their onslaught of lights. And walking into the court room, his eyes were focused on the judge as he was led to stand between the two families fighting over his future. He bit the inside of his lip and blinked a few times to hide his fresh sheet of tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. He took a deep breath to try and calm down. He glanced around the room to see Alice sitting next to... Was that Strange?

"Is everyone here and accounted for?" The judge asked.

"The Barton group is accounted for."

"The Weasleys are accounted for."

"Ronald Weasley is accounted for."

"Britain's child services are accounted for."

"What?" Ron loudly whispered in disbelief.

"Ron, not now," the man who brought him in spoke, his eyes bugged as his hand whipped around to see a group of individuals who stood with a case with their own documents. The head man stood tall with a purely aristocratic face. It kind of reminded Ron of an elf from Lord of the Rings, only, older... And crueler. His cold steely eyes, pale skin and long flowing silvery white hair.

"What's child's services doing here?" Ron blurted out.

"Mr. Weasley. Control yourself-"

"I think I have a right to know what's going on. I'm a child. I'm not incompetent. I get my dad and the Weasleys. But who is the third group?"

"Your honor. He does have a right to know," the Wright man spoke in Ron's favor.

"Mr. Wright, please be silent until-"

"Please sir," Ron interrupted, "This is my life. It's the only one I have. I want to know."

"Very well. Mr. Malfoy is here to represent the country, and your wellbeing. Because custody cases are usually far more clean cut and easily resolvable, the British government has stepped in the case of your care."

"So what does that mean for me?"

There was a moment of silence quickly dissipated with the clear voice of the judge.

"This would look into other more... Listed stable Wizarding families to take you in-"

"That is crap!"

"Ron-"

"Ronald-!"

"Mister Weas-!"

"Why should I be ripped from my family? Not just from America from my dad and aunts and uncles, but my blood too? Wasn't that the whole point of this?"

"The point is your safety. Now please be silent."

Ron glared at the judge. He was sick and tired of being treated like a small child. He was old enough to be included in deciding his own future. And he knew that he didn't want to be thrust into some stranger's custody. He loved his dad. He wanted to _be_ with his dad. He wanted to continue growing up surrounded by his family.

"In the case of Ronald Billius Weasley..."

The pause between his words seemed to stretch as his heartbeat grew faster, pounding against his chest as though it was trying to break free. His breath was shaky and shallow.

"...in terms of his custody..."

Ron's throat grew dry and his lips parted. This man was going to effect the rest of his life. Just his words of the judgement delivered.

"...based on the terms of his upbringing, his legal status of having a dual citizenship..."

Oh god Ron was going to be a legal adult by the time this man finished what he was saying.

"...the people of the court have decided..."

Ron's eyes widened pleadingly. He didn't know how much more he could take of this. He needed to know. Against everything, he felt... He had to know the verdict now.

"That Ronald Weasley shall..."

The judge coughed into his hand, pausing for a moment to clear his throat. Everyone but the jury, judge and guards were at the edge of their seats.

"Excuse me..."

Ron's face contorted into a slight scowl. This was just plan ridiculous.

"Ronald Weasley will be kept..."

Ron's heart began to sore as a smile began to break out on his and his dad's face.

"... Under the joint custody of Arthur and Molly Weasley and Clint Barton."

The gavel came done down with a thundering clap. There was silence followed by an uproar of loud murmurs and cries of indignity. Ron looked downward at his hands lying on the table. Joint custody?

Tears pooled in his eyes as he just shut down. People were yelling. People were screaming. Everything seemed to have broken. He saw, but was unseeing. His ears ringing from the volume of people but could catch no words. He felt the barest of stings as tears began to cascade down his cheeks. His eyes began to close as he tried to stop his tears from falling. He didn't cry out, his words lodged down in his throat, lost on him entirely.

He wanted to scream, to throw things, to run away and hide in anywhere, as long as he was with his dad.

But he couldn't abandon his aunts and uncles. He couldn't run and hide while they fought, and possibly slaughtered one another. He already lost an uncle once, and even though he came back, he didn't want to experience the pain again.

* * *

The Weasley family and Clinton Barton along with an emotionally overwhelmed Ron had been gathered, sitting in a room while the specifics of the joint custody was made clear.

The lawyers all glaring at one another, attempting to be civil as they explained the situation to the entire group allowed in the room.

Ron would have three fourths of the year with the Weasleys, and one fourth his his dad back in America. It had been decided, that if it had to be decided, Ron said he would want to spend summer with his dad, no school to deal with crossing seas.

From June into July and August, leading to school with the Weasleys from September all the way into May. He would have a buffer week with the transition each time he switched over, as to prepare and settle Ron in either location. This was seen to be the most ideal situation for his schooling.

Apparently, each and every Weasley child old enough to go, was sent to Hogwarts. Ron it seemed, would now be no exception. At least he wouldn't be going alone. Hermione would be there. Along with Neville. Perhaps, though going against what he had wanted, he wouldn't back down. He would be at a boarding school. He could avoid his biological parents. And only three siblings were of schooling age. And one was something called a "prefect". All Ron understood from that was that he would be incredibly busy with other students.

That left only the twins. He'd have to try and avoid the two, but if the talk of the size of the school was any indication, it shouldn't be all that difficult. At least he hoped so.

 **So, as many of you may guess, this is the end of Son of the Archer. The next story though has been posted along with this one.**

 **You have a choice. The ending may not have been satisfactory for you. If that is the case, the knight bus is waiting to take you to your next destination. Be it back to the beginning, or far away, they'll get you there...**

 **However, if you wish to move forward, and brave what is to come, walk between platform 9 3/4 and step aboard the Hogwarts' Express into Son of the Archer and The Boy Who Lived.**

 **Seriously, it is posted.**

 **On another note, the small bit of words that Ron kind of sings is from the Song, Famous Final Scene by Bob Seger.**


End file.
